T.y  the  old  Moulmein  Pagoda,  lookin'  eastward  to  the  sea, 

B  u  Burma  girl  a-settin'.  an'  I  know  she  thinks  o    me: 

the  palm  trees,  an'  the  temple  bells  they  say: 

1  Come  you  bacU  >  soldier;  come  you  back  to  Mandalay! 

Comt- 

Flotilla   lay; 

ohuckln'  from  Rangoon  to  Mandalay: 
' !  ay, 

rlyin'    fishes  play, 
An1  :»i-s  up  like  thunder  outer  China  'crost  the  Bay! 

'Er  pettirut  was  yaller  an*  'er  little  cap  was  green. 

iw-lat-Jes'  the  same  as  Theebaw's  Queen. 
An1  I  i')kin'   of  a  whackln'  white  cheroot, 

An'  a-wastin'   Christian  kisses  on  an  'eathen  Idol's  foot; 
..in'   idol  mado  o'  mud — 

...lied  the  Great  Gawd  Budd— 

red  for  Idols  when  I  kissed  'er  where  she  stud! 
i a  to  Mandalay. 

When  the  mist  was  on  the  rlre  fields  an'  the  sun  was  droppin'  slow, 
H;:i«-  l.atijn  an'   she'd  sing  "  Kulla-lo-lo!" 

Miy  shoulder,  an'  her  cheek  agin  my  cheek, 
steamers  an'  the  hathls  pilin'  teak. 

In  f  •  iilgy  creek, 

ung  that  'eavy  you  was  'arf  afraid  to  speak! 
Mandalay. 

it's  nil  ?hovf  be'ind  me— long  ago  nn'  fur  away, 

runnin'  from  the  Benk  to  Mandalay; 
An'  I'm  knrnin'  'ere  In   London  what  the  ten-year  sodger  tells: 

.i-callln'.  why,  you  won't  'eed  nothin'  else." 
i  ii')thin'  rise 
,rlic   smells, 

'..inn  an'  the  palm  trees  an*  the  tlnkly  temple  bells! 
•  1  to  ManOalay. 

r  on   these  gutty  pavln'   stones, 
•  irizzle  wakes  the  fever  in  my  bones: 
:-.;malds  outer  Chelsea  to  the  Strand, 
lovln1.  hut  wot  do  they  understand? 
:'nd — 
-land? 

maiden  In  a  cleaner,  greener  land! 
On  the  road  to  Mandalay. 


where  the  best  Is  like  the  worst, 

a  man  can  raise  a  thirst; 
•^n1  it's  there  that  I  would  be— 
ikln'  lazy  at  the  sea— 


lomc-where  e 

are  callii 

l*y, 

ings  when  we  went  to  Mandalay! 

play, 

n  comes  up  like  thunder  outer  China  'crost  the  Bay! 


Cbe  Seven  Seas 

By  Rudyard  Hfpling 

Author  of  many  Inventions, 

Barrack-Room  Ballads, 

the  3ungk  Books, 

€tc. 


new  Vork 
D.  Hppleton  and  Company 


COPYRIGHT,  1896, 
BY  RUDYARD  KIPLING 


This  book  is  also  protected  by  copyright 
under  the  laws  of  Great  Britain,  and  the  sev- 
eral poems  contained  herein  have  also  been 
severally  copyrighted  in  the  United  States 
of  Ai 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

DEDICATION   TO   THE   CITY   OF   BOMBAY  ...  V 

A  SONG  OF  THE  ENGLISH I 

THE  FIRST  CHANTEY 1 8 

THE  LAST  CHANTEY 21 

THE  MERCHANTMEN 26 

MC  ANDREW'S  HYMN 31 

THE  MIRACLES 46 

THE  NATIVE-BORN 48 

THE   KING 54 

THE   RHYME   OF   THE   THREE  SEALERS      ...  57 

THE    DERELICT 7! 

THE  SONG  OF  THE  BANJO 74 

"THE  LINER  SHE'S  A  LADY" 80 

MULHOLLAND'S  CONTRACT        .      .      .             .  83 

ANCHOR   SONG       ...         r         ....  87 

THE  SEA-WIFE      ........  90 

HYMN   BEFORE   ACTION 93 

TO  THE  TRUE   ROMANCE 96 

THE   FLOWERS       ........  IOO 

THE  LAST  RHYME  OF  TRUE  THOMAS      .         .         .104 
iii 


on/i 


(Contents. 


THE  STORY  OF  UNO 

THE  THREE-DECKER ll8 

AN    AMERICAN 123 

THE   MARY   GLOSTER I2^ 

SESTIN A   OF   THE  TRAMP-ROYAL        .         .         •         •  M1 

BARRACK-ROOM   BALLADS. 
"BACK  TO  THE   ARMY  AGAIN"        .         .         .         •    1 45 

"BIRDS  OF  PREY"  MARCH 149 

"SOLDIER  AN'  SAILOR  TOO" 1 52 

SAPPERS !56 

THAT  DAY I^° 

"THE  MEN  THAT   FOUGHT   AT  MINDEN  "        .         .163 

CHOLERA    CAMP ^7 

THE  LADIES I?1 

BILL  'AWKINS !75 

THE  MOTHER-LODGE 1 77 

"FOLLOW   ME  'OME" l8l 

THE  SERGEANT'S  WEDDIN'.      .      .      .      .      .184 

THE  JACKET •      .187 

THE  'EATHEN 19* 

THE  SHUT-EYE  SENTRY     .      .      .      .      .      .198 

"MARY,  PITY  WOMEN!".      .      .      .      .      •  202 

FOR  TO   ADMIRE  .        .        ...        .         .         .    2O5 

L'ENVOI.  .      .      .      -208 


THE  Cities  are  full  of  pride, 
Challenging  each  to  each — 

This  from  her  mountain-side, 
That  from  her  burthened  beach. 

They  count  their  ships  full  tale — 
Their  corn  and  oil  and  wine, 

Derrick  and  loom  and  bale, 
And  rampart's  gun-flecked  line  ; 

City  by  city  they  hail  : 

"  Hast  aught  to  match  with  mine  ?' 


And  the  men  that  breed  from  them 
They  traffic  up  and  down, 

But  cling  to  their  cities'  hem 
As  a  child  to  the  mother's  gown. 


When  they  talk  with  the  stranger  bands, 

Dazed  and  newly  alone ; 
When  they  walk  in  the  stranger  lands, 

By  roaring  streets  unknown; 
Blessing  her  where  she  stands 

For  strength  above  their  own. 

(On  high  to  hold  her  fame 
That  stands  all  fame  beyond, 

By  oath  to  back  the  same, 
Most  faithful-foolish-fond; 

Making  her  mere-breathed  name 
Their  bond  upon  their  bond.) 

So  thank  I  God  my  birth 

Fell  not  in  isles  aside — 
Waste  headlands  of  the  earth, 

Or  warring  tribes  untried— 
But  that  she  lent  me  worth 

And  gave  me  right  to  pride. 

Surely  in  toil  or  fray 

Under  an  alien  sky, 
Comfort  it  is  to  say: 

"Of  no  mean  city  am  I." 


IDebicotiott. 


(Neither  by  service  nor  fee 

Come  I  to  mine  estate — 
Mother  of  Cities  to  me, 

For  I  was  born  in  her  gate, 
Between  the  palms  and  the  sea, 

Where  the  world-end  steamers  wait.) 

Now  for  this  debt  I  owe, 

And  for  her  far-borne  cheer 
Must  I  make  haste  and  go 

With  tribute  to  her  pier. 

And  she  shall  touch  and  remit 

After  the  use  of  kings 
(Orderly,  ancient,  fit) 

My  deep-sea  plunderings, 
And  purchase  in  all  lands. 

And  this  we  do  for  a  sign 

Her  power  is  over  mine, 
And  mine  I  hold  at  her  hands. 


A  SONG  OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

Fair  is  our  lot — O  goodly  is  our  heritage  I 
(Humble  ye,  my  people,  and  be  fearful  in  your 

mirth  /) 

For  the  Lord  our  God  Most  High 
He  hath  made  the  deep  as  dry, 
He  hath  smote  for  us  a  pathway  to  the  ends  of  all 
the  Earth  ! 

Yea,  though  we  sinned — and  our  rulers  went  from 

righteousness — 

Deep  in  all  dishonour  though  we  stained  our  gar- 
ments' hem. 
Oh  be  ye  not  dismayed, 
Though  we  stumbled  and  we  strayed, 
We  were  led  by  evil  counsellors — the  Lord  shall 
deal  with  them. 

Hold  ye   the    Faith  —  the    Faith    our    Fathers 

sealed  us; 
Whoring  not  with  visions — overwise  and  overstate. 


91  QonQ  of  tlje 


Except  ye  pay  the  Lord 
Single  heart  and  single  sword, 
Of  your  children  in  their  bondage  shall  He  ask 
them  treble-tale. 

Keep  ye  the  Law — be  swift  in  all  obedience. 

Clear  the  land  of  evil,  drive  the  road  and  bridge 

the  ford. 

Make  ye  sure  to  each  his  own 
That  he  reap  what  he  hath  sown  ; 
By  the  peace  among  Our  peoples  let  men  know  we 
serve  the  Lord. 

Hear  now  a  song — a  song  of  broken  interludes — 
A  song  of  little  cunning;   of  a  singer  nothing 

worth. 

Through  the  naked  words  and  mean 
May  ye  see  the  truth  between 
As  the  singer  knew  and  touched  it  in  the  ends  of 
all  the  Earth  ! 


21  Song  0f  tl)e 


f£l)e  Coasttoise 

Our  brows  are  wreathed  with  spindrift  and  the 

weed  is  on  our  knees; 
Our  loins  are  battered  'neath  us  by  the  swinging, 

smoking  seas. 
From  reef  and  rock  and  skerry — over  headland, 

ness  and  voe — 
The  Coastwise  Lights  of  England  watch  the  ships 

of  England  go ! 

Through  the  endless  summer  evenings,  on  the  line- 
less,  level  floors ; 

Through  the  yelling  Channel  tempest  when  the 
syren  hoots  and  roars — 

By  day  the  dipping  house-flag  and  by  night  the 
rocket's  trail — 

As  the  sheep  that  graze  behind  us  so  we  know 
them  where  they  hail. 

We  bridge  across  the  dark,  and  bid  the  helmsman 

have  a  care, 
The  flash  that  wheeling  inland  wakes  his  sleeping 

wife  to  prayer ; 


Song  of  tlje  (Englislj. 


From  our  vexed  eyries,  head  to  gale,  we  bind  in 

burning  chains 
The  lover  from  the  sea-rim  drawn— his  love  in 

English  lanes. 

We  greet  the  clippers  wing-and-wing  that  race 

the  Southern  wool ; 
We  warn  the  crawling  cargo-tanks  of  Bremen, 

Leith  and  Hull ; 
To  each  and  all  our  equal  lamp  at  peril  of  the 

sea — 
The  white  wall-sided  warships  or  the  whalers  of 

Dundee ! 

Come  up,  come  in  from  Eastward,  from  the  guard- 
ports  of  the  Morn  ! 

Beat  up,  beat  in  from  Southerly,  O  gipsies  of  the 
Horn! 

Swift  shuttles  of  an  Empire's  loom  that  weave  us 
main  to  main, 

The  Coastwise  Lights  of  England  give  you  wel- 
come back  again ! 

Go,  get  you  gone  up-Channel  with  the  sea-crust 

on  your  plates ; 
Go,  get  you  into  London  with  the  burden  of  your 

freights ! 


of  tlje 


Haste,  for  they  talk  of  Empire  there,  and  say,  if 

any  seek, 
The  Lights  of  England  sent  you  and  by  silence 

shall  ye  speak. 


CElje  Song  of  t^e 

Hear  now  the  Song  of  the  Dead — in  the  North  by 

the  torn  berg-edges — 
They  that  look  still  to  the  Pole,  asleep  by  their 

hide-stripped  sledges. 
Song  of  the  Dead  in  the  South — in  the  sun  by  their 

skeleton  horses, 
Where  the  warrigal  whimpers  and  bays  through 

the  dust  of  the  sere  river-courses. 

Song  of  the  Dead  in  the  East — in  the  heat-rotted 

jungle  hollows, 
Where  the  dog-ape  barks  in  the  kloof— in  the  brake 

of  the  buffalo-wallows. 
Song  of  the  Dead  in  the  West — in  the  Barrens,  the 

snow  that  betrayed  them, 
Where  the  wolverine  tumbles  their  packs  from  the 

camp  and  the  grave-mound  they  made  them; 
Hear  now  the  Song  of  the  Dead  ! 


01  Song  of  tljc 


I. 

We  were  dreamers,  dreaming  greatly,  in  the  man- 
stifled  town ; 

We  yearned  beyond  the  sky-line  where  the  strange 
roads  go  down. 

Came  the  Whisper,  came  the  Vision,  came  the 
Power  with  the  Need. 

Till  the  Soul  that  is  not  man's  soul  was  lent  us  to 
lead. 

As  the  deer  breaks — as  the  steer  breaks — from  the 
herd  where  they  graze, 

In  the  faith  of  little  children  we  went  on  our 
ways. 

Then  the  wood  failed— then  the  food  failed— then 
the  last  water  dried — 

In  the  faith  of  little  children  we  lay  down  and 
died. 

On  the  sand-drift — on  the  veldt-side — in  the  fern- 
scrub  we  lay, 

That  our  sons  might  follow  after  by  the  bones  on 
the  way. 

Follow  after— follow  after!  We  have  watered  the 
root, 

And  the  bud  has  come  to  blossom  that  ripens  for 
fruit! 


31  00ng  of  ll)e 


Follow  after — we  are  waiting  by  the  trails  that 

we  lost 
For  the  sound  of  many  footsteps,  for  the  tread  of  a 

host. 
Follow    after — follow   after — for    the    harvest    is 

sown: 
By  the  bones  about  the  wayside  ye  shall  come  to 

your  own ! 

When  Drake  went  down  to  the  Horn 
And  England  was  crowned  thereby, 

'  Twixt  seas  unsailed  and  shores  unhailed 
Our  Lodge — our  Lodge  was  born 
(And  England  was  crowned  thereby}. 

Which  never  shall  close  again 

By  day  nor  yet  by  night, 
While  man  shall  take  his  life  to  stake 

At  risk  of  shoal  or  main 

(By  day  nor  yet  by  night), 

But  standeth  even  so 

As  now  we  witness  here, 
While  men  depart,  of  joyful  heart, 

Adventure  for  to  know. 

(As  now  bear  witness  here). 


Song  0f  llje  (ffnglisl). 


II. 
We  have  fed  our  sea  for  a  thousand  years 

And  she  calls  us,  still  unfed, 
Though  there's  never  a  wave  of  all  her  waves 

But  marks  our  English  dead: 
We  have  strawed  our  best  to  the  weed's  unrest 

To  the  shark  and  the  sheering  gull. 
If  blood  be  the  price  of  admiralty, 

Lord  God,  we  ha'  paid  in  full! 

There's  never  a  flood  goes  shoreward  now 

But  lifts  a  keel  we  manned ; 
There's  never  an  ebb  goes  seaward  now 

But  drops  our  dead  on  the  sand — 
But  slinks  our  dead  on  the  sands  forlore, 

From  The  Ducies  to  the  Swin. 
If  blood  be  the  price  of  admiralty, 
If  blood  be  the  price  of  admiralty, 

Lord  God,  we  ha'  paid  it  in ! 

We  must  feed  our  sea  for  a  thousand  years, 

For  that  is  our  doom  and  pride, 
As  it  was  when  they  sailed  with  the  Golden  Hind 

Or  the  wreck  that  struck  last  tide— 
Or  the  wreck  that  lies  on  the  spouting  reef 

Where  the  ghastly  blue-lights  flare. 


S0ng  0f  llje 


If  blood  be  the  price  of  admiralty, 
If  blood  be  the  price  of  admiralty, 
If  blood  be  the  price  of  admiralty, 
Lord  God,  we  ha'  bought  it  fair! 


ea  Cables. 

The  wrecks  dissolve  above  us;  their  dust  drops 
down  from  afar — 

Down  to  the  dark,  to  the  utter  dark,  where  the 
blind  white  sea-snakes  are. 

There  is  no  sound,  no  echo  of  sound,  in  the  des- 
erts of  the  deep, 

Or  the  great  gray  level  plains  of  ooze  where  the 
shell-burred  cables  creep. 

Here  in  the  womb  of  the  world — here  on  the  tie- 
ribs  of  earth 

Words,  and  the  words  of  men,  flicker  and  flut- 
ter and  beat — 

Warning,  sorrow  and  gain,  salutation  and  mirth — 
For  a  Power  troubles  the  Still  that  has  neither 
voice  nor  feet. 


<2t  Song  of  ttje  <£ngli0l). 


They  have  wakened  the  timeless  Things  ;    they 

have  killed  their  father  Time ; 
Joining  hands  in  the  gloom,  a  league  from  the 

last  of  the  sun. 

Hush!  Men  talk  to-day  o'er  the  waste  of  the  ulti- 
mate slime, 

And  a  new  Word  runs  between:  whispering, 
"Let  us  be  one!" 


®l)e  Song  of  the  Sons. 

One  from  the  ends  of  the  earth — gifts  at  an  open 

door — 
Treason  has  much,  but  we,  Mother,  thy  sons  have 

more! 
From  the  whine  of  a  dying  man,  from  the  snarl  of 

a  wolf-pack  freed, 
Turn,  for  the  world  is  thine.     Mother,  be  proud  of 

thy  seed ! 
Count,  are  we  feeble  or  few  ?    Hear,  is  our  speech 

so  rude  ? 
Look,  are  we  poor  in  the  land  ?    Judge,  are  we 

men  of  The  Blood  ? 


Song  of  tlje 


Those  that  have  stayed  at  thy  knees,  Mother,  go 

call  them  in — 
We    that  were   bred   overseas   wait    and  would 

speak  with  our  kin. 
Not  in  the  dark  do  we  fight — haggle  and  flout  and 

gibe; 
Selling  our  love  for  a  price,  loaning  our  hearts  for 

a  bribe. 
Gifts  have  we  only  to-day — Love  without  promise 

or  fee — 
Hear,  for  thy  children  speak,  from  the  uttermost 

parts  of  the  sea : 

i 

(Efye  Song  of  tlje  QTitiea. 

Bombay. 
Royal  and  Dower-royal,  I  the  Queen 

Fronting  thy  richest  sea  with  richer  hands — 
A  thousand  mills  roar  through  me  where  I  glean 

All  races  from  all  lands. 

Calcutta. 

i 
Me  the  Sea-captain  loved,  the  River  built, 

Wealth  sought  and  Kings  adventured  life  to  hold. 
Hail,  England!     I  am  Asia — Power  on  silt, 
Death  in  my  hands,  but  Goldl 


Song  of  ilje  (Engiisl). 


Madras. 
Give  kissed  me  on  the  mouth  and  eyes  and  brow, 

Wonderful  kisses,  so  that  I  became 
Crowned    above    Queens — a    withered    beldame 

now, 
Brooding  on  ancient  fame. 

Rangoon. 
Hail,  Mother!    Do  they  call  me  rich  in  trade  ? 

Little  care  I,  but  hear  the  shorn  priest  drone, 
And  watch  my  silk-clad  lovers,  man  by  maid, 

Laugh  'neath  my  Shwe  Dagon. 

Singapore. 
Hail,  Mother!     East  and  West  must  seek  my  aid 

Ere  the  spent  gear  shall  dare  the  ports  afar. 
The  second  doorway  of  the  wide  world's  trade 

Is  mine  to  loose  or  bar. 

Hong-hong. 
Hail,  Mother!    Hold  me  fast;  my  Praya  sleeps 

Under  innumerable  keels  to-day. 
Yet  guard  (and  landward)  or  to-morrow  sweeps 

Thy  warships  down  the  bay. 


31  Song  of  tlje  (Snglislj.  13 


Halifax. 
Into  the  mist  my  guardian  prows  put  forth, 

Behind  the  mist  my  virgin  ramparts  lie, 
The  Warden  of  the  Honour  of  the  North, 

Sleepless  and  veiled  am  I ! 

Quebec  and  Montreal. 
Peace  is  our  portion.     Yet  a  whisper  rose, 

Foolish  and  causeless,  half  in  jest,  half  hate. 
Now  wake  we  and  remember  mighty  blows, 

And,  fearing  no  man,  wait! 

Victoria. 
From  East  to  West  the  circling  word  has  passed, 

Till  West  is  East  beside  our  land-locked  blue; 
From  East  to  West  the  tested  chain  holds  fast, 

The  well-forged  link  rings  true! 

Capetown. 
Hail!   Snatched  and   bartered    oft  from  hand  to 

hand, 

I  dream  my  dream,  by  rock  and  heath  and  pine, 
Of  Empire  to  the  northward.     Ay,  one  land 
From  Lion's  Head  to 'Line! 


i4  21  Song  of  tlje 


Melbourne. 
Greeting!    Nor  fear  nor  favour  won  us  place, 

Got  between  greed  of  gold  and  dread  of  drouth, 
Loud-voiced  and  reckless  as  the  wild  tide-race 

That  whips  our  harbour-mouth ! 

Sydney. 
Greeting!    My  birth-stain  have  I  turned  to  good; 

Forcing  strong  wills  perverse  to  steadfastness ; 
The  first  flush  of  the  tropics  in  my  blood, 

And  at  my  feet  Success! 

Brisbane. 
The  northern  stirp  beneath  the  southern  skies — 

I  build  a  nation  for  an  Empire's  need, 
Suffer  a  little,  and  my  land  shall  rise, 

Queen  over  lands  indeed ! 

Hobart. 
Man's  love  first  found  me ;  man's  hate  made  me 

Hell; 

For  my  babes'  sake  I  cleansed  those  infamies. 
Earnest  for  leave  to  live  and  labour  well 
God  flung  me  peace  and  ease. 


31  60ng  of  ifye  (English.  15 

Auckland. 
Last,  loneliest,  loveliest,  exquisite,  apart — 

On  us,  on  us  the  unswerving  season  smiles, 
Who  wonder  'mid  our  fern  why  men  depart 

To  seek  the  Happy  Isles! 


Truly  ye  come  of  The  Blood;  slower  to  bless  than 

to  ban ; 

Little  used  to  lie  down  at  the  bidding  of  any  man. 
Flesh  of  the  flesh  that  I  bred,  bone  of  the  bone 

that  I  bare; 
Stark  as  your  sons  shall  be — stern  as  your  fathers 

were. 
Deeper  than  speech  our  love,  stronger  than  life 

our  tether, 
But  we  do  not  fall  on  the  neck  nor  kiss  when  we 

come  together. 
My  arm  is  nothing  weak,  my  strength  is  not  gone 

by; 
Sons,  I  have  borne  many  sons  but  my  dugs  are 

not  dry. 


1  6  &  Song  0f  llje 


Look,  I  have  made  ye  a  place  and  opened  wide 

the  doors, 
That  ye  may  talk  together,  your  Barons  and  Coun- 

cillors — 
Wards  of  the  Outer  March,  Lords  of  the  Lower 

Seas, 
Ay,  talk  to  your  gray  mother  that  bore  you  on  her 

knees  !  — 
That  ye  may  talk  together,  brother  to  brother's 

face  — 
Thus  for  the  good  of  your  peoples  —  thus  for  the 

Pride  of  the  Race. 
•  Also,  we  will  make  promise.     So  long  as  The 

Blood  endures, 
I  shall  know  that  your  good  is  mine  :  ye  shall  feel 

that  my  strength  is  yours  : 
In  the  day  of  Armageddon,  at  the  last  great  fight 

of  all, 
That  Our  House  stand  together  and  the  pillars  do 

not  fall. 
Draw  now  the  three-fold  knot  firm  on  the  nine- 

fold bands, 
And  the  Law  that  ye  make  shall  be  law  after  the 

rule  of  your  lands. 
This  for  the  waxen  Heath,  and  that  for  the  Wattle- 

bloom, 


31  Song  of  tl)c  (Englisl).  17 

This  for  the  Maple-leaf,  and  that  for  the  southern 

Broom. 
The  Law  that  ye  make  shall  be  law  and  I  do  not 

press  my  will, 
Because  ye  are  Sons  of  The  Blood  and  call  me 

Mother  still. 
Now  must  ye  speak  to  your  kinsmen  and  they 

must  speak  to  you, 
After  the  use  of  the  English,  in  straight-flung  words 

and  few. 
Go  to  your  work  and  be  strong,  halting  not  in 

your  ways, 
Baulking  the  end  half- won  for  an  instant  dole  of 

praise. 
Stand  to  your  work  and  be  wise — certain  of  sword 

and  pen, 
Who  are  neither  children  nor  Gods,  but  men  in  a 

world  of  men ! 


THE  FIRST  CHANTEY. 

MINE  was  the  woman  to  me,  darkling  I  found 

her; 
Haling  her  dumb  from  the  camp,  held  her  and 

bound  her. 
Hot  rose  her  tribe  on  our  track  ere  I  had  proved 

her; 
Hearing  her  laugh  in  the  gloom,  greatly  I  loved 

her. 

Swift  through  the  forest  we  ran;  none  stood  to 

guard  us, 
Few  were  my  people  and  far;  then  the  flood 

barred  us — 

Him  we  call  Son  of  the  Sea,  sullen  and  swollen ; 
Panting  we  waited  the  death,  stealer  and  stolen, 

Yet  ere   they  came    to    my  lance  laid  for    the 

slaughter, 
Lightly  she  leaped  to  a  log  lapped  in  the  water; 

18 


®l)e  .first  QHjanteg.  19 

Holding  on  high  and  apart  skins  that  arrayed  her, 
Called  she  the  God  of  the  Wind  that  he  should  aid 
her. 

Life  had  the  tree  at  that  word,  (Praise  we  the  Giver !) 
Otter-like  left  he  the  bank  for  the  full  river. 
Far  fell  their  axes  behind,  flashing  and  ringing, 
Wonder  was  on  me  and  fear,  yet  she  was  singing. 

Low  lay  the  land  we  had  left.     Now  the  blue 

bound  us, 

Even  the  Floor  of  the  Gods  level  around  us. 
Whisper  there  was  not,  nor  word,  shadow  nor 

showing, 
Still  the  light  stirred  on  the  deep,  glowing  and 

growing. 

Then  did  He  leap  to  His  place  flaring  from  under, 
He  the  Compeller,  the  Sun,  bared  to  our  wonder. 
Nay,  not  a  league  from  our  eyes  blinded  with 

gazing, 
Cleared  He  the  womb  of  the   world,   huge  and 

amazing! 

This  we  beheld   (and   we  live)— the   Pit  of  the 

Burning, 
Then  the  God  spoke  to  the  tree  for  our  returning; 


®l)e  first 


Back  to  the  beach  of  our  flight,  fearless  and  slowly, 
Back  to  our  slayers  he  went  :  but  we  were  holy. 

Men  that  were  hot  in  that   hunt,  women  that 

followed, 
Babes  that  were  promised  our  bones,  trembled 

and  wallowed  : 
Over  the  necks  of  the  tribe  crouching  and  fawn- 

ing- 
Prophet  and  priestess  we  came  back  from  the 

dawning! 


THE   LAST  CHANTEY. 

"And  there  was  no  more  sea." 

THUS  said  The  Lord  in  the  Vault  above  the  Cheru- 
bim, 

Calling  to  the  angels  and  the  souls  in  their  de- 
gree: 

"Lo!  Earth  has  passed  away 
On  the  smoke  of  Judgment  Day. 
That  Our  word  may  be  established  shall  We 
gather  up  the  sea  ?  " 

Loud  sang  the  souls  of  the  jolly,  jolly  mariners: 
"Plague  upon  the  hurricane  that  made  us  furl 

and  flee! 

But  the  war  is  done  between  us, 
In  the  deep  the  Lord  hath  seen  us — 
Our  bones  we'll  leave  the  barracout',  and  God 
may  sink  the  sea ! " 
21 


£ast 


Then  said  the  soul  of  Judas  that  betrayed  Him: 
"Lord,    hast    Thou    forgotten    Thy    covenant 

with  me  ? 

How  once  a  year  I  go 
To  cool  me  on  the  floe, 

And  Ye  take  my  day  of  mercy  if  Ye  take  away 
the  sea!  " 


Then  said  the  soul  of  the  Angel  of  the  Off-shore 

Wind: 
(He  that  bits  the  thunder  when  the  bull-mouthed 

breakers  flee) : 

"  I  have  watch  and  ward  to  keep 
O'er  Thy  wonders  on  the  deep, 
And  Ye  take  mine  honour  from  me  if  Ye  take 
away  the  sea !  " 


Loud  sang  the  souls  of  the  jolly,  jolly  mariners : 
"Nay,  but  we  were  angry,  and  a  hasty  folk 

are  we ! 

If  we  worked  the  ship  together 
Till  she  foundered  in  foul  weather, 
Are  we  babes  that  we  should  clamour  for  a 
vengeance  on  the  sea  ?  " 


£001  (EJjantejj.  23 


Then  said  the  souls  of  the  slaves  that  men  threw 

overboard : 
"Kennelled  in    the    picaroon    a  weary    band 

were  we ; 

But  Thy  arm  was  strong  to  save, 
And  it  touched  us  on  the  wave, 
And  we  drowsed  the  long  tides  idle  till  Thy 
Trumpets  tore  the  sea." 

Then  cried  the  soul  of  the  stout  Apostle  Paul  to 

God; 
"Once  we  frapped  a  ship,  and  she  laboured 

woundily. 

There  were  fourteen  score  of  these, 
And  they  blessed  Thee  on  their  knees, 
When  they  learned  Thy  Grace  and  Glory  under 
Malta  by  the  sea." 

Loud  sang  the  souls  of  the  jolly,  jolly  mariners, 
Plucking  at  their  harps,  and  they  plucked  un- 
handily : 

"Our  thumbs  are  rough  and  tarred, 
And  the  tune  is  something  hard — 
May  we  lift  a  Deepsea  Chantey  such  as  seamen 
use  at  sea  ?  " 


24  6CI)e  Cast 


Then  said   the  souls    of  the    gentlemen-adven- 

turers — 

Fettered  wrist  to  bar  all  for  red  iniquity  : 
"  Ho,  we  revel  in  our  chains 
O'er  the  sorrow  that  was  Spain's  ; 
Heave  or  sink  it,  leave  or  drink  it,  we  were 
masters  of  the  sea  !  " 


Up  spake  the  soul  of  a  gray  Gothavn   'speck- 

shioner — 
(He  that  led  the  flinching  in  the  fleets  of  fair 

Dundee) : 

"  Ho,  the  ringer  and  right  whale, 
And  the  fish  we  struck  for  sale, 
Will  Ye  whelm  them  all  for  wantonness  that 
wallow  in  the  sea  ?  " 


Loud  sang  the  souls  of  the  jolly,  jolly  mariners, 
Crying:    "Under  Heaven,  here  is  neither  lead 

nor  lea! 

Must  we  sing  for  evermore 
On  the  windless,  glassy  floor  ? 
Take  back  your  golden  fiddles  and  we'll  beat  to 
open  sea!" 


Cast  (Eljantes.  25 


Then  stooped  the  Lord,  and  He  called  the  good 

sea  up  to  Him, 

And  'stablished  his  borders  unto  all  eternity, 
That  such  as  have  no  pleasure 
For  to  praise  the  Lord  by  measure, 
They  may  enter  into  galbons  and  serve  Him  on 
the  sea. 

Sun,  wind,  and  cloud  shall  fail  not  from  the  face 

of  it, 
Stinging,  ringing  spindrift,  nor  the  fulmar  flying 

free; 

And  the  ships  shall  go  abroad 
To  the  glory  of  the  Lord 

Who  heard  the  silly  sailor-folk  and  gave  them 
back  their  sea  ! 


THE   MERCHANTMEN. 

KING  SOLOMON  drew  merchantmen, 

Because  of  his  desire 
For  peacocks,  apes,  and  ivory, 

From  Tarshish  unto  Tyre: 
With  cedars  out  of  Lebanon 

Which  Hiram  rafted  down, 
But  we  be  only  sailormen 

That  use  in  London  town. 

Coastwise — cross-seas — round  the  world  and  back 

again — 
Where   the  flaw   shall   head   us   or   the  full 

Trade  suits — 
Plain-sail — storm-sail — lay  your  board  and  tack 

again — 

And  that's  the  way  we'll  pay  Paddy  Doyle  for 
his  boots! 

We  bring  no  store  of  ingots, 

Of  spice  or  precious  stones, 
But  that  we  have  we  gathered 

With  sweat  and  aching  bones: 


iflmtycmtnwn.  27 


In  flame  beneath  the  tropics, 

In  frost  upon  the  floe, 
And  jeopardy  of  every  wind 

That  does  between  them  go. 

And  some  we  got  by  purchase, 

And  some  we  had  by  trade, 
And  some  we  found  by  courtesy 

Of  pike  and  carronade, 
At  midnight,  'mid-sea  meetings, 

For  charity  to  keep, 
And  light  the  rolling  homeward-bound 

That  rode  a  foot  too  deep. 

By  sport  of  bitter  weather 

We're  walty,  strained,  and  scarred 
From  the  kentledge  on  the  kelson 

To  the  slings  upon  the  yard. 
Six  oceans  had  their  will  of  us 

To  carry  all  away  — 
Our  galley  's  in  the  Baltic, 

And  our  boom  's  in  Mossel  Bay! 

We've  floundered  off  the  Texel, 

Awash  with  sodden  deals, 
We've  slipped  from  Valparaiso 

With  the  Norther  at  our  heels: 


28  Clje  iHmljantmen. 

We've  ratched  beyond  the  Cressets 
That  tusk  the  Southern  Pole, 

And  dipped  our  gunnels  under 
To  the  dread  Agulhas  roll. 

Beyond  all  outer  charting 

We  sailed  where  none  have  sailed, 
And. saw  the  land-lights  burning 

On  islands  none  have  hailed; 
Our  hair  stood  up  for  wonder, 

But,  when  the  night  was  done, 
There  danced  the  deep  to  windward 

Blue-empty  'neath  the  sun ! 

Strange  consorts  rode  beside  us 

And  brought  us  evil  luck ; 
The  witch-fire  climbed  our  channels, 

And  danced  on  vane  and  truck: 
Till,  through  the  red  tornado, 

That  lashed  us  nigh  to  blind, 
We  saw  The  Dutchman  plunging, 

Full  canvas,  head  to  wind ! 

We've  heard  the  Midnight  Leadsman 
That  calls  the  black  deep  down — 

Ay,  thrice  we've  heard  The  Swimmer, 
The  Thing  that  may  not  drown. 


®Ije  4Herrl)atttmeit.  29 

On  frozen  bunt  and  gasket 
The  sleet-cloud  drave  her  hosts, 

When,  manned  by  more  than  signed  with  us. 
We  passed  the  Isle  o'  Ghosts! 

And  north,  amid  the  hummocks, 

A  biscuit-toss  below, 
We  met  the  silent  shallop 

That  frighted  whalers  know; 
For,  down  a  cruel  ice-lane, 

That  opened  as  he  sped, 
We  saw  dead  Henry  Hudson 

Steer,  North  by  West,  his  dead. 

So  dealt  God's  waters  with  us 

Beneath  the  roaring  skies, 
So  walked  His  signs  and  marvels 

All  naked  to  our  eyes : 
But  we  were  heading  homeward 

With  trade  to  lose  or  make — 
Good  Lord,  they  slipped  behind  us 

In  the  tailing  of  our  wake ! 

Let  go,  let  go  the  anchors; 

Now  shamed  at  heart  are  we 
To  bring  so  poor  a  cargo  home 

That  had  for  gift  the  sea! 


30 


Let  go  the  great  bow-anchors  — 
Ah,  fools  were  we  and  blind  — 

The  worst  we  baled  with  utter  toil, 
The  best  we  left  behind  ! 

Coastwise  —  cross-seas  —  round  the  world  and  back 

again, 
Whither  the  flaw  shall  fail  us  or  the  Trades 

drive  down  : 
Plain-sail  —  storm-sail  —  lay  your  board  and  tack 

again  — 
And  all  to  bring  a  cargo  up  to  London  Town  ! 


McANDREW'S  HYMN. 

LORD,  Thou  hast  made  this  world  below  the  shad- 
ow of  a  dream, 

An',  taught  by  time,  I  tak'  it  so — exceptin'  always 
Steam. 

From  coupler-flange  to  spindle-guide  I  see  Thy 

Hand,  O  God- 
Predestination  in  the  stride  o'  yon  connectin'-rod. 

John  Calvin  might  ha'  forged  the  same — enorr- 
mous,  certain,  slow — 

Ay,  wrought  it  in  the  furnace-flame — my  "  Insti- 
tutio." 

I  cannot  get  my  sleep  to-night;  old  bones  are  hard 
to  please; 

I'll  stand  the  middle  watch  up  here — alone  wi' 
God  an'  these 

My  engines,  after  ninety  days  o'  race  an'  rack  an' 
strain 

Through  all  the  seas  of  all  Thy  world,  slam-bang- 
in'  home  again. 


32  Jflc&nfcretD's  %mn. 


Slam-bang  too   much — they  knock  a  wee — the 

crosshead-gibs  are  loose ; 
But  thirty  thousand  mile  o'  sea  has  gied  them  fair 

excuse.  .  .  . 
Fine,   clear  an'  dark — a  full-draught  breeze,   wi* 

Ushant  out  o'  sight, 
An'  Ferguson  relievin'  Hay.     Old  girl,  ye'll  walk 

to-night ! 
His  wife's  at  Plymouth.  .  .  .  Seventy — One — Two 

— Three  since  he  began — 
Three  turns  for  Mistress  Ferguson.  ...  an'  who's 

to  blame  the  man  ? 
There's  none  at  any  port  for  me,  by  drivin'  fast  or 

slow, 
Since  Elsie  Campbell  went  to  Thee,  Lord,  thirty 

years  ago. 
(The  year  the  Sarah   Sands    was    burned.     Oh 

roads  we  used  to  tread, 

Fra'  Maryhill  to  Pollokshaws — fra'  Govan  to  Park- 
head!) 
Not  but  they're  ceevil  on  the  Board.     Ye'll  hear 

Sir  Kenneth  say : 
"Good  morrn,  McAndrews!     Back  again?    An' 

how's  your  bilge  to-day  ?  " 
Miscallin'    technicalities    but    handin'     me    my 

chair 


'a  fj£tnn.  33 


To  drink  Madeira  wi'  three  Earls — the  auld  Fleet 

Engineer, 
That  started  as  a  boiler- whelp — when  steam  and 

he  were  low. 
I  mind  the  time  we  used  to  serve  a  broken  pipe 

wi'  tow. 
Ten  pound  was  all  the  pressure  then — Eh !  Eh ! — 

a  man  wad  drive ; 
An'  here,  our  workin'  gauges  give  one  hunder' 

fifty-five ! 
We're  creepin'  on  wi'  each  new  rig — less  weight 

an'  larger  power: 
There'll  be  the  loco-boiler  next  an'  thirty  knots  an 

hour! 

Thirty  an'  more.     What  I  ha'  seen  since  ocean- 
steam  began 
Leaves  me  no  doot  for  the  machine:  but  what 

about  the  man  ? 
The  man  that  counts,  wi'  all  his  runs,  one  million 

mile  o'  sea: 
Four  time  the  span  from  earth  to  moon.  .  .  .  How 

far,  O  Lord,  from  Thee  ? 
That  wast  beside  him  night  an'    day.     Ye  mind 

my  first  typhoon  ? 
It  scoughed  the  skipper  on  his  way  to  jock  wi'  the 

saloon. 


34 


Three  feet  were  on  the  stokehold  floor — just  slap- 
pin'  to  an'  fro — 
An'  cast  me  on  a  furnace-door.     I  have  the  marks 

to  show. 
Marks!  I  ha'  marks  o'  more  than  burns — deep  in 

my  soul  an'  black, 
An'  times  like  this,  when  things  go  smooth,  my 

wickudness  comes  back. 
The  sins  o'  four  and  forty  years,  all  up  an'  down 

the  seas, 
Clack  an'  repeat  like  valves  half-fed.  .  .  .  Forgie's 

our  trespasses. 
Nights  when  I'd  come  on  deck  to  mark,  wi'  envy 

in  my  gaze, 
The  couples  kittlin'  in  the  dark  between  the  funnel 

stays; 
Years  when  I  raked  the  ports  wi'  pride  to  fill 

my  cup  o'  wrong — 
Judge  not,  O  Lord,  my  steps  aside  at  Gay  Street 

in  Hong-Kong! 
Blot  out  the  wastrel  hours  of  mine  in  sin  when  I 

abode — 
Jane  Harrigan's  an'  Number  Nine,  The  Reddick 

an'  Grant  Road! 

An'  waur  than  all— my  crownin'  sin— rank  blas- 
phemy an'  wild. 


35 


I  was  not  four  and  twenty  then  —  Ye  wadna  judge 

a  child  ? 
I'd  seen  the  Tropics  first  that  run  —  new  fruit,  new 

smells,  new  air  — 
How  could  I  tell  —  blind-fou  wi'  sun  —  the  Deil  was 

lurkin'  there  ? 
By  day  like  playhouse-scenes  the  shore  slid  past 

our  sleepy  eyes  ; 
By  night  those  soft,  lasceevious  stars  leered  from 

those  velvet  skies, 
In  port  (we  used  no  cargo-steam)   I'd  daunder 

down  the  streets  — 
An  ijjit  grinnin'  in  a  dream  —  for  shells  an'  parra- 

keets, 
An'  walkin'-sticks  o'  carved  bamboo  an'  blowfish 

stuffed  an'  dried  — 
Fillin'  my  bunk  wi'  rubbishry  the  Chief  put  over- 

side. 
Till,  off  Sumbawa  Head,  Ye  mind,  I  heard  a  land- 

breeze  ca' 
Milk-  warm  wi'  breath  o'  spice  an'  bloom:  "Mc- 

Andrews,  come  awa'  !  " 
Firm,    clear    an'    low  —  no    haste,    no    hate  —  the 

ghostly  whisper  went, 
Just   statin'    eevidential    facts    beyon'    all    argu- 

ment: 


36 


"Your  mither's  God's  a  graspirf  deil,  the  shadow 

o'  yoursel', 
"Got  out  o'  books  by  meenisters  clean  daft  on 

Heaven  an'  Hell. 
"They  mak'  him  in  the  Broomielaw,  o'  Glasgie 

cold  an'  dirt, 
"A  jealous,  pridefu'  fetich,  lad,  that's  only  strong 

to  hurt, 
"  Ye'll  not  go  back  to  Him  again  an'  kiss  His  red- 

hot  rod, 
"But  come  wi'  Us"   (Now,  who  were  They?} 

"an'  know  the  Leevin'  God, 
"  That  does  not  kipper  souls  for  sport  or  break  a 

life  in  jest, 
"But  swells  the  ripenin'  cocoanuts  an'  ripes  the 

woman's  breast." 
An'  there  it  stopped:  cut  off:  no  more;  that  quiet, 

certain  voice  — 
For  me,  six  months  o'  twenty-four,  to  leave  or 

take  at  choice. 
Twas  on  me  like  a  thunderclap  —  it  racked  me 

through  an'  through  — 
Temptation  past  the  show  o'  speech,  unnamable 

an'  new  — 
The  Sin  against  the  Holy  Ghost  ?  .  .  .  An'  under 

all,  our  screw. 


37 


That  storm  blew  by  but  left  behind  her  anchor- 

shiftin'  swell, 
Thou  knowest  all  my  heart  an'  mind,  Thou  know- 

est,  Lord,  I  fell. 
Third  on  the  Mary  Gloster  then,  and  first  that 

night  in  Hell  ! 
Yet  was  Thy  hand  beneath  my  head:  about  my 

feet  Thy  care  — 
Fra'    Deli    clear    to    Torres    Strait,    the    trial    o' 

despair, 
But  when  we  touched  the  Barrier  Reef  Thy  answer 

to  my  prayer  ! 
We  dared  na  run  that  sea  by  night  but  lay  an' 

held  our  fire, 
An'  I  was  drowzin'  on  the  hatch  —  sick  —  sick  wi' 

doubt  an'  tire: 
"Better  the  sight  of  eyes  that  see  than  -wanderin' 

o'  desire!  " 
Ye  mind  that  word  ?     Clear  as  our  gongs  —  again, 

an'  once  again, 
When  rippin'  down  through  coral-trash  ran  out 

our  moorin'-chain  ; 
An'  by  Thy  Grace  I  had  the  Light  to  see  my  duty 

plain. 
Light  on  the  engine-room  —  no  more  —  clear  as  our 

carbons  burn. 


38 


I've  lost  it  since  a  thousand  times,  but  never  past 
return. 

Obsairve!     Per  annum  we'll  have  here  two  thou- 
sand souls  aboard — 

Think  not  I  dare  to  justify  myself  before  the  Lord, 
But — average  fifteen  hunder'  souls  safe-borne  fra 

port  to  port — 
I  am  o'  service  to  my  kind.     Ye  wadna'  blame  the 

thought  ? 
Maybe  they  steam  from  grace  to  wrath — to  sin  by 

folly  led,— 
It  isna  mine  to  judge  their  path — their  lives  are  on 

my  head. 
Mine  at  the  last — when  all  is  done  it  all  comes 

back  to  me, 
The  fault  that  leaves  six  thousand  ton  a  log  upon 

the  sea. 
We'll  tak'  one  stretch — three  weeks  an'  odd  by 

any  road  ye  steer — 
Fra'  Cape  Town  east  to  Wellington — ye  need  an 

engineer. 
Fail  there — ye've  time  to  weld  your  shaft — ay,  eat 

it,  ere  ye're  spoke, 
Or  make   Kerguelen  under  sail  —  three  jiggers 

burned  wi'  smoke! 


39 


An'  home  again,  the  Rio  run  :  it's  no  child's  play 

to  go 
Steamin'  to  bell  for  fourteen  days  o'  snow  an'  floe 

an'  blow  — 
The  bergs  like  kelpies  overside  that  girn  an'  turn 

an'  shift 
Whaur,  grindin'  like  the  Mills  o'  God,  goes  by  the 

big  South  drift. 
(Hail,  snow  an'  ice  that  praise  the  Lord:  I've  met 

them  at  their  work, 
An'  wished  we  had  anither  route  or  they  anither 

kirk.) 
Yon's  strain,  hard  strain,   o'  head  an'   hand,   for 

though  Thy  Power  brings 
All  skill  to  naught,  Ye'll  understand  a  man  must 

think  o'  things. 
Then,  at  the  last,  we'll  get  to  port  an'  hoist  their 

baggage  clear  — 
The  passengers,  wi'  gloves  an'  canes  —  an'  this  is 

what  I'll  hear: 
"  Well,  thank  ye  for  a  pleasant  voyage.     The  ten- 

der's comin'  now." 
While  I  go   testin'   follower-bolts  an'  watch  the 

skipper  bow. 
They've  words  for  everyone  but  me  —  shake  hands 

wi'  half  the  crew, 


40  iflc&nbreio's 


Except  the  dour  Scots  engineer,  the  man  they 

never  knew. 
An'  yet  I  like  the  wark  for  all  we've  dam'  few 

pickin's  here  — 
No  pension,  an'  the  most  we  earn's  four  hunder' 

pound  a  year. 
Better  myself  abroad  ?    Maybe.    I'd  sooner  starve 

than  sail 
Wi'  such  as  call  a  snifter-rod  ross.  .  .  .  French 

for  nightingale. 
Commeesion  on  my  stores?    Some  do;  but  I  can 

not  afford 
To  lie  like  stewards  wi'  patty-pans.      I'm  older 

than  the  Board. 
A  bonus  on  the  coal  I  save  ?    Ou  ay,  the  Scots  are 

close, 
But  when   I   grudge  the   strength   Ye  gave   I'll 

grudge  their  food  to  those. 
(There's  bricks  that  I  might  recommend—  an'  clink 

the  fire-bars  cruel. 
No!  Welsh  —  Wangarti  at  the  worst  —  an'  damn  all 

patent  fuel  !) 
Inventions?     Ye  must  stay  in   port  to  mak'  a 

patent  pay. 
My  Deeferential  Valve-Gear  taught  me  how  that 

business  lay, 


I  blame  no  chaps  wi'  clearer  head  for  aught  they 

make  or  sell. 
/  found  that  I  could  not  invent  an*  look  to  these — 

as  well. 
So,  wrestled  wi'  Apollyon — Nah! — fretted  like  a 

bairn — 
But  burned  the  workin'-plans  last  run  wi'  all  I 

hoped  to  earn. 
Ye  know  how  hard  an  Idol  dies,  an'  what  that 

meant  to  me — 

E'en  tak'  it  for  a  sacrifice  acceptable  to  Thee.  .  .    . 
Below  there  !    Oiler  !     What's  your  wark  ?     Ye 

find  her  runnin'  hard? 
Ye  needn't  swill  the  cap  wi'  oil — this  isn't  the 

Cunard. 
Ye  thought  ?     Ye  are  not  paid  to  think.     Go,  sweat 

that  off  again  ! 
Tck !    Tck !     It's  deeficult  to  sweer  nor  tak'  The 

Name  in  vain! 
Men,  ay  an'  women,  call  me  stern.     Wi'  these  to 

oversee 

Ye'll  note  I've  little  time  to  burn  on  social  repartee. 
The  bairns  see  what  their  elders  miss ;  they'll  hunt 

me  to  an'  fro, 
Till  for  the  sake  of— well,  a  kiss — I  tak'  'em  down 

below. 

4 


42 


That  minds  me  of  our  Viscount  loon  —  Sir  Ken- 

neth's kin  —  the  chap 
Wi'  russia  leather  tennis-shoon  an'   spar-decked 

yachtin'-cap. 
I  showed  him  round  last  week,  o'er  all  —  an'  at  the 

last  says  he  : 
"  Mister  McAndrews,  don't  you  think  steam  spoils 

romance  at  sea  ?" 
Damned  ijjit!    I'd  been  doon  that  morn  to  see 

what  ailed  the  throws, 
Manholin',  on  my  back  —  the  cranks  three  inches 

from  my  nose. 
Romance  !    Those  first-class  passengers  they  like 

it  very  well, 
Printed  an'  bound  in  little  books;  but  why  don't 

poets  tell  ? 
I'm  sick  of  all  their  quirks  an'  turns  —  the  loves  an' 

doves  they  dream  — 
Lord,  send  a  man  like  Robbie  Burns  to  sing  the 

Song  o'  Steam  ! 
To  match  wi'  Scotia's  noblest  speech  yon  orchestra 

sublime 
Whaurto  —  uplifted  like  the  Just  —  the  tail-rods  mark 

the  time. 
The  crank-throws  give  the  double-bass  ;  the  feed- 

pump sobs  an'  heaves: 


43 


An'  now  the  main  eccentrics  start  their  quarrel  on 

the  sheaves. 
Her  time,  her  own  appointed  time,  the  rocking 

link-head  bides, 
Till  —  hear  that  note?  —  the  rod's  return  whings 

glimmerin'  through  the  guides. 
They're   all   awa!      True   beat,   full   power,   the 

clangin'  chorus  goes 
Clear  to  the  tunnel  where  they  sit,   my  purrin' 

dynamoes. 
Interdependence  absolute,  foreseen,  ordained,  de- 

creed, 
To  work,  Ye'll  note,  at  any  tilt  an'  every  rate  o' 

speed. 
Fra  skylight-lift  to  furnace-bars,  backed,  bolted, 

braced  an'  stayed, 
An'  singin'  like  the  Mornin'  Stars  for  joy  that  they 

are  made  ; 
While,  out  o'  touch  o'  vanity,  the  sweatin'  thrust- 

block  says: 
"Not  unto  us  the  praise,  or  man  —  not  unto  us  the 

praise  !  " 
Now,  a'  together,  hear  them  lift  their  lesson  —  theirs 

an'  mine: 
"Law,  Orrder,  Duty  an'  Restraint,  Obedience,  Dis- 

cipline!" 


44 


Mill,  forge  an'  try-pit  taught  them  that  when  roar- 

in'  they  arose, 
An'  whiles  I  wonder  if  a  soul  was  gied  them  wi' 

the  blows. 
Oh  for  a  man  to  weld  it  then,  in  one  trip-hammer 

strain, 
Till  even  first-class  passengers  could  tell  the  mean- 

in'  plain! 
But  no  one  cares  except  mysel'  that  serve  an'  un- 

derstand 
My  seven  thousand  horse-power  here.     Eh,  Lord  ! 

They're  grand  —  they're  grand  ! 
Uplift  am  I  ?    When  first  in  store  the  new-made 

beasties  stood, 
Were  Ye  cast  down  that  breathed  the  Word  de- 

clarin'  all  things  good  ? 
Not  so!     O'  that  warld-liftin'  joy  no  after-fall 

could  vex, 
Ye've  left  a  glimmer  still  to  cheer  the  Man  —  the 

Arrtifex! 
That  holds,  in  spite  o'  knock  and  scale,  o'  friction, 

waste  an'  slip, 
An'  by  that  light  —  now,  mark  my  word  —  we'll 

build  the  Perfect  Ship. 
I'll  never  last  to  judge  her  lines  or  take  her  curve- 

not  I. 


45 


But  I  ha'  lived  an'  I  ha*  worked.     All  thanks  to 

Thee,  Most  High  ! 
An'  I  ha'  done  what  I  ha'  done  —  judge  Thou  if  ill 

or  well  — 
Always  Thy  Grace  preventin'  me.  .  .  . 

Losh  !    Yon's  the  "  Stand  by  "  bell. 
Pilot  so  soon  ?    His  flare  it  is.     The  mornin'-watch 

is  set. 
Well,  God  be  thanked,  as  I  was  sayin',  I'm  no 

Pelagian  yet. 
Now  I'll  tak'  on.  ... 

'Morrn,  Ferguson.    Man,  have  ye  ever  thought 
What  your  good  leddy  costs  in  coal  ?    .    .    .    I'll 

burn  'em  down  to  port. 


THE  MIRACLES. 

I  SENT  a  message  to  my  dear — 
A  thousand  leagues  and  more  to  her- 

The  dumb  sea-levels  thrilled  to  hear, 
And  Lost  Atlantis  bore  to  her. 

Behind  my  message  hard  I  came, 
And  nigh  had  found  a  grave  for  me; 

But  that  I  launched  of  steel  and  flame 
Did  war  against  the  wave  for  me. 

Uprose  the  deep,  by  gale  on  gale, 
To  bid  me  change  my  mind  again — 

He  broke  his  teeth  along  my  rail, 
And,  roaring,  swung  behind  again. 

I  stayed  the  sun  at  noon  to  tell 
My  way  across  the  waste  of  it; 

I  read  the  storm  before  it  fell 
And  made  the  better  haste  of  it. 

46 


47 


Afar,  I  hailed  the  land  at  night  — 
The  towers  I  built  had  heard  of  me  — 

And,  ere  my  rocket  reached  its  height, 
Had  flashed  my  Love  the  word  of  me. 

Earth  gave  her  chosen  men  of  strength 
(They  lived  and  strove  and  died  for  me) 

To  'drive  my  road  a  nation's  length, 
And  toss  the  miles  aside  for  me. 

I  snatched  their  toil  to  serve  my  needs  — 
Too  slow  their  fleetest  flew  for  me  — 

I  tired  twenty  smoking  steeds, 
And  bade  them  bait  a  new  for  me. 

I  sent  the  lightnings  forth  to  see 
Where  hour  by  hour  she  waited  me. 

Among  ten  million  one  was  she, 
And  surely  all  men  hated  mel 

Dawn  ran  to  meet  us  at  my  goal  — 
Ah,  day  no  tongue  shall  tell  again  !  — 

And  little  folk  of  little  soul 
Rose  up  to  buy  and  sell  again  ! 


THE  NATIVE-BORN. 

WE'VE  drunk  to  the  Qyeen — God  bless  her!- 

We've  drunk  to  our  mothers'  land; 
We've  drunk  to  our  English  brother 

(But  he  does  not  understand) ; 
We've  drunk  to  the  wide  creation, 

And  the  Cross  swings  low  to  the  morn, 
Last  toast,  and  of  obligation, 

A  health  to  the  Native-born ! 


They  change  their  skies  above  them, 

But  not  their  hearts  that  roam ! 
We  learned  from  our  wistful  mothers 

To  call  old  England  "home  "; 
We  read  of  the  English  sky-lark, 

Of  the  spring  in  the  English  lanes, 
But  we  screamed  with  the  painted  lories 

As  we  rode  on  the  dusty  plains ! 

48 


49 


They  passed  with  their  old-world  legends  — 

Their  tales  of  wrong  and  dearth  — 
Our  fathers  held  by  purchase, 

But  we  by  the  right  of  birth  ; 
Our  heart's  where  they  rocked  our  cradle, 

Our  love  where  we  spent  our  toil, 
And  our  faith  and  our  hope  and  our  honour 

We  pledge  to  our  native  soil  ! 

I  charge  you  charge  your  glasses  — 

I  charge  you  drink  with  me 
To  the  men  of  the  Four  New  Nations, 

And  the  Islands  of  the  Sea  — 
To  the  last  least  lump  of  coral 

That  none  may  stand  outside, 
And  our  own  good  pride  shall  teach  us 

To  praise  our  comrade's  pride. 

To  the  hush  of  the  breathless  morning 

On  the  thin,  tin,  crackling  roofs, 
To  the  haze  of  the  burned  back-ranges 

And  the  dust  of  the  shoeless  hoofs  — 
To  the  risk  of  a  death  by  drowning, 

To  the  risk  of  a  death  by  drouth  — 
To  the  men  of  a  million  acres, 

To  the  Sons  of  the  Golden  South. 


50 


To  the  Sons  of  the  Golden  South,  (Stand  up  !) 

And  the  life  we  live  and  know, 
Let  a  fellow   sing  o'  the  little  things  he  cares 

about, 
If  a  fellow  fights  for  the  little  things  he  cares 

about 
With  the  weight  of  a  single  blow  ! 


To  the  smoke  of  a  hundred  coasters, 

To  the  sheep  on  a  thousand  hills, 
To  the  sun  that  never  blisters, 

To  the  rain  that  never  chills— 
To  the  land  of  the  waiting  springtime, 

To  our  five-meal,  meat-fed  men, 
To  the  tall  deep-bosomed  women, 

And  the  children  nine  and  ten! 


And  the  children  nine  and  ten,  (Stand  up  /) 

And  the  life  we  live  and  know, 
Let  a  fellow  sing  o'  the  little  things  he  cares 

about, 
If  a  fellow  fights  for  the  little  things   he  cares 

about 
With  the  weight  of  a  two-fold  blow  ! 


51 


To  the  far-flung  fenceless  prairie 

Where  the  quick  cloud-shadows  trail, 
To  our  neighbour's  barn  in  the  offing 

And  the  line  of  the  new-cut  rail; 
To  the  plough  in  her  league-long  furrow 

With  the  gray  Lake  gulls  behind  — 
To  the  weight  of  a  half-year's  winter 

And  the  warm  wet  western  wind  ! 

To  the  home  of  the  floods  and  thunder, 

To  her  pale  dry  healing  blue  — 
To  the  lift  of  the  great  Cape  combers, 

And  the  smell  of  the  baked  Karroo. 
To  the  growl  of  the  sluicing  stamp-head  — 

To  the  reef  and  the  water-gold, 
To  the  last  and  the  largest  Empire, 

To  the  map  that  is  half  unrolled! 

To  our  dear  dark  foster-mothers, 

To  the  heathen  songs  they  sung  — 
To  the  heathen  speech  we  babbled 

Ere  we  came  to  the  white  man's  tongue. 
To  the  cool  of  our  deep  verandas  — 

To  the  blaze  of  our  jewelled  main, 
To  the  night,  to  the  palms  in  the  moonlight, 

And  the  fire-fly  in  the  cane! 


52  GTlje  dative-barn. 

To  the  hearth  of  our  people's  people — 

To  her  well-ploughed  windy  sea, 
To  the  hush  of  our  dread  high-altars 

Where  the  Abbey  makes  us  We; 
To  the  grist  of  the  slow-ground  ages, 

To  the  gain  that  is  yours  and  mine — 
To  the  Bank  of  the  Open  Credit, 

To  the  Power-house  of  the  Line ! 

We've  drunk  to  the  Queen — God  bless  her! — 

We've  drunk  to  our  mothers'  land; 
We've  drunk  to  our  English  brother 

(And  we  hope  he'll  understand). 
We've  drunk  as  much  as  we're  able, 

And  the  Cross  swings  low  to  the  morn ; 
Last  toast — and  your  foot  on  the  table ! — 

A  health  to  the  Native-born ! 

A  health  to  the  Native-born,  (Stand  up!) 

We're  six  white  men  arow, 
All  bound  to  sing  o'   the  little  things  we  care 

about, 
All  bound  to  fight  for  the  little  things  -we  care 

about 

With  the  weight  of  a  six-fold  blow  ! 
By  the  might  of  our  cable-tow,  ( Take  hands  /) 


S3 


From  the  Orkneys  to  the  Horn, 
All  round  the  world  (and  a  little  loop  to  pull 

it  by], 
All  round  the  world  (and  a  little  strap  to  buckle 

it], 
A  health  to  the  Native-born  I 


THE  KING. 

"FAREWELL,  Romance!"  the  Cave-men  said; 

"  With  bone  well  carved  he  went  away, 
Flint  arms  the  ignoble  arrowhead, 

And  jasper  tips  the  spear  to-day. 
Changed  are  the  Gods  of  Hunt  and  Dance, 
And  he  with  these.     Farewell,  Romance!" 

"Farewell,  Romance!"  the  Lake-folk  sighed; 

"  We  lift  the  weight  of  flatling  years; 
The  caverns  of  the  mountain  side 

Hold  him  who  scorns  our  hutted  piers. 
Lost  hills  whereby  we  dare  not  dwell, 
Guard  ye  his  rest.     Romance,  farewell!  " 

"Farewell,  Romance!"  the  Soldier  spoke; 

"  By  sleight  of  sword  we  may  not  win, 
But  scuffle  'mid  uncleanly  smoke 

Of  arquebus  and  culverin. 
Honour  is  lost,  and  none  may  tell 
Who  paid  good  blows.     Romance,  farewell ! " 

54 


®l)e  King.  55 

"  Farewell,  Romance!  "  the  Traders  cried; 

"  Our  keels  ha'  lain  with  every  sea; 
The  dull-returning  wind  and  tide 

Heave  up  the  wharf  where  we  would  be; 
The  known  and  noted  breezes  swell 
Our  trudging  sail.     Romance,  farewell !  " 

"  Good-bye,  Romance!  "  the  Skipper  said; 

" He  vanished  with  the  coal  we  burn; 
Our  dial  marks  full  steam  ahead, 

Our  speed  is  timed  to  half  a  turn. 
Sure  as  the  tidal  trains  we  ply 
'Twixt  port  and  port.     Romance,  good-bye  !  " 

"Romance!"  the  Season-tickets  mourn, 

"He  never  ran  to  catch  his  train, 
But  passed  with  coach  and  guard  and  horn — 

And  left  the  local — late  again ! " 
Confound  Romance!"  .  .  .  And  all  unseen 
Romance  brought  up  the  nine-fifteen. 

His  hand  was  on  the  lever  laid, 
His  oil-can  soothed  the  worrying  cranks, 

His  whistle  waked  the  snowbound  grade, 
His  fog-horn  cut  the  reeking  Banks; 

In  dock  and  deep  and  mine  and  mill 

The  Boy-god  reckless  laboured  still. 


56  ©1)0  liing. 

Robed,    crowned  and   throned,    he    wove   his 

spell, 
Where    heart-blood    beat    or   hearth-smoke 

curled, 
With  unconsidered  miracle, 

Hedged  in  a  backward-gazing  world; 
Then  taught  his  chosen  bard  to  say : 
" The  King  was  with  us — yesterday! " 


THE  RHYME  OF  THE  THREE  SEALERS. 

Away  by  the  lands  of  the  Japanee, 

When  the  paper  lanterns  glow 
And  the  crews  of  all  the  shipping  drink 

In  the  house  of  Blood  Street  Joe, 
At  twilight,  when  the  landward  breeze 

Brings  up  the  harbour  noise, 
And  ebb  of  Yokohama  Bay 

Swigs  chattering  through  the  buoys, 
In  Cisco's  Dewdrop  Dining  Rooms 

They  tell  the  tale  anew 
Of  a  hidden  sea  and  a  hidden  fight, 
When  the  Baltic  ran  from  the  Northern  Light 

And  the  Stralsund  fought  the  two! 

Now  this  is  the  Law  of  the  Muscovite,  that  he 

proves  with  shot  and  steel, 
When  ye  come  by  his  isles  in  the  Smoky  Sea  ye 

must  not  take  the  seal, 
Where  the  gray  sea  goes  nakedly  between  the 

weed-hung  shelves, 
5  57 


of  tl)e  £l)ree  Sealers. 


And  the  little  blue  fox  he  is  bred  for  his  skin  and 

the  seal  they  breed  for  themselves; 
For  when  the  matkas  seek  the  shore  to  drop  their 

pups  aland, 
The  great  man-seal  haul  out  of  the  sea,  aroaring, 

band  by  band  ; 
And  when  the  first  September  gales  have  slaked 

their  rutting-  wrath, 
The  great  man-seal  haul  back  to  the  sea  and  no 

man  knows  their  path. 
Then  dark  they  lie  and  stark  they  lie  —  rookery, 

dune,  and  floe, 
And  the  Northern  Lights  come  down  o'  nights  to 

dance  with  the  houseless  snow. 
And  God  who  clears  the  grounding  berg  and  steers 

the  grinding  floe, 
He  hears  the  cry  of  the  little  kit-fox  and  the  lem- 

ming on  the  snow. 
But  since  our  women  must  walk  gay  and  money 

buys  their  gear, 
The  sealing-boats  they  filch  that  way  at  hazard 

year  by  year. 
English  they  be  and  Japanee  that  hang  on  the 

Brown  Bear's  flank, 
And  some  be  Scot,  but  the  worst,  God  wot,  and 

the  boldest  thieves,  be  Yank! 


£{je  Bonnie  of  tlje  Sljree  Seaier0.        59 

It  was  the  sealer  Northern  Light,  to  the  Smoky 
Seas  she  bore. 

With  a  stovepipe  stuck  from  a  starboard  port  and 
the  Russian  flag  at  her  fore. 

(Baltic,  Stralsund,  and  Northern  Light— oh!  they 
were  birds  of  a  feather — 

Slipping  away  to  the  Smoky  Seas,  three  seal- 
thieves  together!) 

And  at  last  she  came  to  a  sandy  cove  and  the  Bal- 
tic lay  therein, 

But  her  men  were  up  with  the  herding  seal  to 
drive  and  club  and  skin. 

There  were  fifteen  hundred  skins  abeach,  cool  pelt 
and  proper  fur, 

When  the  Northern  Light  drove  into  the  bight  and 
the  sea-mist  drove  with  her. 

The  Baltic  called  her  men  and  weighed — she  could 
not  choose  but  run — 

For  a  stovepipe  seen  through  the  closing  mist,  it 
shows  like  a  four-inch  gun 

(And  loss  it  is  that  is  sad  as  death  to  lose  both  trip 
and  ship 

And  lie  for  a  rotting  contraband  on  Vladivostock 
slip). 

She  turned  and  dived  in  the  sea-smother  as  a  rab- 
bit dives  in  the  whins, 


60        (Efje  Bljtjme  of  tfje  Hfcee  Sealers. 

And  the  Northern  Light  sent  up  her  boats  to  steal 
the  stolen  skins. 

They  had  not  brought  a  load  to  side  or  slid  their 
hatches  clear, 

When  they  were  aware  of  a  sloop-of-war,  ghost- 
white  and  very  near. 

Her  flag  she  showed,  and  her  guns  she  showed — 
three  of  them,  black,  abeam, 

And  a  funnel  white  with  the  crusted  salt,  but 
never  a  show  of  steam. 

There  was  no  time  to  man  the  brakes,  they 
knocked  the  shackle  free, 

And  the  Northern  Light  stood  out  again,  goose- 
winged  to  open  sea. 


(For  life  it  is  that  is  worse  than  death,  by  force  of 

Russian  law 
To  work  in  the  mines  of  mercury  that  loose  the 

teeth  in  your  jaw !) 
They  had  not  run  a  mile  from  shore — they  heard 

no  shots  behind — 
When  the  skipper  smote  his  hand  on  his  thigh  and 

threw  her  up  in  the  wind: 
"Bluffed — raised  out  on  a  bluff,"  said  he,  "for  if 

my  name's  Tom  Hall, 


of  tfye  (Eljree  Qualm.        61 


"You  must  set  a  thief  to  catch  a  thief—  and  a  thief 

has  caught  us  all  ! 

"  By  every  butt  in  Oregon  and  every  spar  in  Maine, 
"  The  hand  that  spilled  the  wind  from  her  sail  was 

the  hand  of  Reuben  Paine! 
"He  has  rigged  and  trigged  her  with  paint  and 

spar,  and,  faith,  he  has  faked  her  well  — 
"  But  I'd  know  the  Stralsund's  deckhouse  yet  from 

here  to  the  booms  o'  Hell. 
"  Oh,  once  we  ha'  met  at  Baltimore,  and  twice  on 

Boston  pier, 
"But  the  sickest  day  for  you,  Reuben  Paine,  was 

the  day  that  you  came  here  — 
"The  day  that  you  came  here,  my  lad,  to  scare  us 

from  our  seal 
"With  your  funnel  made  o'  your  painted  cloth, 

and  your  guns  o'  rotten  deal  ! 
"  Ring  and  blow  for  the  Baltic  now,  and  head  her 

back  to  the  bay, 
"For  we'll  come  into  the  game  again  with  a 

double  deck  to  play  !  " 

They  rang  and  blew  the  sealers'  call  —  the  poaching 

cry  o'  the  sea  — 
And  they  raised  the  Baltic  out  of  the  mist,  and  an 

angry  ship  was  she  ; 


62         Stye  Elaine  of  tfye  QLtyree  Sealers. 

And  blind  they  groped  through  the  whirling 
white,  and  blind  to  the  bay  again, 

Till  they  heard  the  creak  of  the  Stralsund's  boom 
and  the  clank  of  her  mooring-chain. 

They  laid  them  down  by  bitt  and  boat,  their  pis- 
tols in  their  belts, 

And:  "Will  you  fight  for  it,  Reuben  Paine,  or 
will  you  share  the  pelts  ?  " 

A  dog-toothed  laugh  laughed  Reuben  Paine,  and 

bared  his  flenching  knife. 
"Yea,  skin  for  skin,  and  all  that  he  hath  a  man 

will  give  for  his  life ; 
But  I've  six  thousand  skins  below,  and  Yeddo 

Port  to  see, 
And  there's  never  a  law  of  God  or  man  runs  north 

of  Fifty-Three. 
So  go  in  peace  to  the  naked  seas  with  empty  holds 

to  fill, 
And  I'll  be  good  to  your  seal  this  catch,  as  many  as 

I  shall  kill." 

'Answered  the  snap  of  a  closing  lock  and  the  jar  of 

a  gun-butt  slid, 
But  the  tender  fog  shut  fold  on  fold  to  hide  the 

wrong  they  did. 


(Hfje  ttl^ine  0f  tl)e  S^ree  Sealers.        63 

The  weeping  fog  rolled  fold  on  fold  the  wrath  of 

man  to  cloak, 
And  the  flame-spurts  pale  ran  down  the  rail  as 

the  sealing-rifles  spoke. 

The  bullets  bit  on  bend  and  butt,  the  splinter  sliv- 
ered free, 
(Little  they  trust  to  sparrow-dust  that  stop  the 

seal  in  his  sea!) 
The  thick  smoke  hung  and  would  not  shift,  leaden 

it  lay  and  blue, 
But  three  were  down  on  the  Baltic's  deck  and  two 

of  the  Stralsund's  crew. 
An  arm's  length  out  and  overside  the  banked  fog 

held  them  bound; 
But,  as  they  heard  or  groan  or  word,  they  fired  at 

the  sound. 
For  one  cried  out  on  the  name  of  God,  and  one  to 

have  him  cease ; 
And  the  questing  volley  found  them  both  and 

bade  them  hold  their  peace. 
And  one  called  out  on  a  heathen  joss  and  one  on 

the  Virgin's  Name ; 
And  the  schooling  bullet  leaped  across  and  showed 

them  whence  they  came. 

And  in  the  waiting  silences  the  rudder  whined  be- 
neath, 


64        ®l)c  Halite  of  tl)e  QHjro  Sealers. 

And  each  man   drew  his  watchful  breath  slow 

taken  'tween  the  teeth — 
Trigger  and  ear  and  eye  acock,  knit  brow  and 

hard-drawn  lips — 
Bracing  his  feet  by  chock  and  cleat  for  the  rolling 

of  the  ships: 
Till  they  heard  the  cough  of  a  wounded  man  that 

fought  in  the  fog  for  breath, 
Till  they  heard  the  torment  of  Reuben  Paine  that 

wailed  upon  his  death : 

"The  tides  they'll  go  through  Fundy  Race  but  I'll 
go  never  more 

"And  see  the  hogs  from  ebb-tide  mark  turn  scam- 
pering back  to  shore. 

"No  more  I'll  see  the  trawlers  drift  below  the  Bass 
Rock  ground, 

"Or  watch  the  tall  Fall  steamer  lights  tear  blaz- 
ing up  the  Sound.  • 

"Sorrow  is  me,  in  a  lonely  sea  and  a  sinful  fight  I 
fall, 

"But  if  there's  law  o'  God  or  man  you'll  swing 
for  it  yet,  Tom  Hall !  " 

Tom  Hall  stood  up  by  the  quarter-rail.  "Your 
words  in  your  teeth,"  said  he. 


of  tl)e  Sljree  Sealers.        65 


"There's  never  a  law  of  God  or  man  runs  north 

of  Fifty  Three. 
"So  go  in  grace  with  Him  to  face,  and  an  ill- 

spent  life  behind, 
"And  I'll  take  care  o'  your  widows,  Rube,  as 

many  as  I  shall  find." 
A  Stralsund  man  shot  blind  and  large,  and  a  war- 

lock Finn  was  he, 
And  he  hit  Tom  Hall  with  a  bursting  ball  a  hand's- 

breadth  over  the  knee. 
Tom  Hall  caught  hold  by  the  topping-lift,  and  sat 

him  down  with  an  oath, 
"You'll  wait  a  little,  Rube,"  he  said,  "the  Devil 

has  called  for  both. 
"The  Devil  is  driving  both  this  tide,  and  the  kill- 

ing-grounds are  close, 
"And  we'll  go  up  to  the  Wrath  of  God  as  the 

holluschickie  goes. 
"O    men,    put  back  your  guns  again  and  lay 

your  rifles  by, 
"We've  fought  our  fight,  and  the  best  are  down. 

Let  up  and  let  us  die! 
"Qyit  firing,  by  the  bow  there  —  quit!    Call  off 

the  Baltic's  crew  ! 
"  You're  sure  of  Hell  as  me  or  Rube  —  but  wait  till 

we  get  through." 


66        ®|)e  ftjjsme  of  tlje  Soiree  Sealers. 

There  went  no  word  between  the  ships,  but  thick 

and  quick  and  loud 
The  life-blood  drummed  on  the  dripping  decks, 

with  the  fog-dew  from  the  shroud, 
The  sea-pull  drew  them  side  by  side,  gunnel  to 

gunnel  laid, 
And  they  felt  the  sheerstrakes  pound  and  clear, 

but  never  a  word  was  said. 


Then  Reuben   Paine  cried  out  again  before  his 

spirit  passed : 
"  Have  I  followed  the  sea  for  thirty  years  to  die  in 

the  dark  at  last  ? 
"Curse  on  her  work  that  has  nipped  me  here 

with  a  shifty  trick  unkind — 
"I  have  gotten  my  death  where  I  got  my  bread, 

but  I  dare  not  face  it  blind. 
"  Curse  on  the  fog!    Is  there  never  a  wind  of  all 

the  winds  I  knew 
"  To  clear  the  smother  from  off  my  chest,  and  let 

me  look  at  the  blue  ?  " 
The  good  fog  heard — like  a  splitten  sail,  to  left  and 

right  she  tore, 
And  they  saw  the  sun-dogs  in  the  haze  and  the 

seal  upon  the  shore. 


0f  ll)e  QLtyrce  Sealers.        67 


Silver  and  gray  ran  spit  and  bay  to  meet  the  steel- 

backed  tide, 
And  pinched  and  white  in  the  clearing  light  the 

crews  stared  overside. 
O  rainbow-gay  the  red  pools  lay  that  swilled  and 

spilled  and  spread, 
And  gold,  raw  gold,  the  spent  shell  rolled  between 

the  careless  dead  — 
The  dead  that  rocked  so  drunkenwise  to  weather 

and  to  lee, 
And  they  saw  the  work  their  hands  had  done  as 

God  had  bade  them  see! 


And  a  little  breeze  blew  over  the  rail  that  made 
the  headsails  lift, 

But  no  man  stood  by  wheel  or  sheet,  and  they  let 
the  schooners  drift. 

And  the  rattle  rose  in  Reuben's  throat  and  he  cast 
his  soul  with  a  cry, 

And  "  Gone  already  ?  "  Tom  Hall  he  said.  ' *  Then 
it's  time  for  me  to  die." 

His  eyes  were  heavy  with  great  sleep  and  yearn- 
ing for  the  land, 

And  he  spoke  as  a  man  that  talks  in  dreams,  his 
wound  beneath  his  hand. 


68        (Elje  Ulistne  of  tljc  Stjree  Qeaiers. 


"Oh,  there  comes  no  good  in  the  westering  wind 

that  backs  against  the  sun  ; 
"  Wash  down  the  decks  —  they're  all  too  red  —  and 

share  the  skins  and  run, 
"Baltic,   Stralsund,   and   Northern  Light,  —  clean 

share  and  share  for  all, 
"You'll  find  the  fleets  off  Tolstoi  Mees,  but  you 

will  not  find  Tom  Hall. 
"  Evil  he  did  in  shoal-  water  and  blacker  sin  on  the 

deep, 
"But  now  he's  sick  of  watch  and  trick,  and  now 

he'll  turn  and  sleep. 
"He'll  have  no  more  of  the  crawling  sea  that 

made  him  suffer  so, 
"  But  he'll  lie  down  on  the  killing-grounds  where 

the  holluschickie  go. 
"  And  west  you'll  turn  and  south  again,  beyond  the 

sea-fog's  rim, 
"And  tell  the  Yoshiwara  girls  to  burn  a  stick  for 

him. 
"And  you'll  not  weight  him  by  the  heels  and 

dump  him  overside, 
"  But  carry  him  up  to  the  sand-hollows  to  die  as 

Bering  died, 
"  And  make  a  place  for  Reuben  Paine  that  knows 

the  fight  was  fair, 


(£l)e  fttyiime  of  tfye  SCfyree  Sealers.        69 

"And  leave  the  two  that  did  the  wrong  to  talk  it 
over  there!" 


Half-steam  ahead  by  guess  and  lead,  for  the  sun 

•is  mostly  -veiled — 
Through  fog  to  fog,  by  luck  and  log,  sail  ye  as 

Bering  sailed  ; 

And,  if  the  light  shall  lift  aright  to  give  your  land- 
fall plain, 
North  and  by  west,  from  Zapne  Crest,  ye  raise 

the  Crosses  Twain. 
Fair  marks  are  they  to  the  inner  bay,  the  reckless 

poacher  knows, 
What  time  the  scarred  see-catchie  lead  their  sleek 

seraglios. 
Ever  they  hear  the  floe-pack  clear,  and  the  blast  of 

the  old  bull-whale, 
And  the  deep  seal-roar  that  beats  off  shore  above 

the  loudest  gale. 
Ever  they  wait  the  winter's  hate  as  the  thundering 

boorga  calls, 
Where  northward  look  they  to  St.  George,  and 

westward  to  St.  Paul's. 
Ever  they  greet  the  hunted  fleet — lone  keels   off 

headlands  drear — 


70        QTljc  &f)j)ine  of  tlje  ®l)m  Qeaicts. 

When  the  sealing-schooners  flit  that  way  at  hazard 
year  by  year. 

Ever  in  Yokohama  Tort  men  tell  the  tale  anew 
Of  a  hidden  sea  and  a  hidden  fight, 
When  the  Baltic  ran  from  the  Northern  Light 

And  the  Stralsund  fought  the  two! 


THE  DERELICT. 

"  And  reports  the  derelict  Mary  Pollock  still  at  sea." 

Shipping  News. 

I  was  the  staunchest  of  our  fleet 

Till  the  Sea  rose  beneath  our  feet 
Unheralded,  in  hatred  past  all  measure. 

Into  his  pits  he  stamped  my  crew, 

Buffeted,  blinded,  bound  and  threw; 
Bidding  me  eyeless  wait  upon  his  pleasure. 

Man  made  me,  and  my  will 

Is  to  my  maker  still, 
Whom  now  the  currents  con,  the  rollers  steer — 

Lifting  forlorn  to  spy 

Trailed  smoke  along  the  sky, 
Falling  afraid  lest  any  keel  come  near. 

Wrenched  as  the  lips  of  thirst, 
Wried,  dried,  and  split  and  burst, 
Bone-bleached   my   decks,   wind-scoured  to  the 
graining; 


72  Klje  SDmlict. 


And,  jarred  at  every  roll, 
The  gear  that  was  my  soul 
Answers  the  anguish  of  my  beams'  complaining. 

For  life  that  crammed  me  full, 

Gangs  of  the  prying  gull 
That  shriek  and  scrabble  on  the  riven  hatches. 

For  roar  that  dumbed  the  gale 

My  hawse-pipes  guttering  wail, 
Sobbing  my  heart  out  through   the  uncounted 
watches. 

Blind  in  the  hot  blue  ring 

Through  all  my  points  I  swing — 
Swing  and  return  to  shift  the  sun  anew. 

Blind  in  my  well-known  sky 

I  hear  the  stars  go  by, 
Mocking  the  prow  that  can  not  hold  one  true ! 

White  on  my  wasted  path 

Wave  after  wave  in  wrath 

Frets  'gainst  his  fellow,  warring  where  to  send 
me. 

Flung  forward,  heaved  aside, 

Witless  and  dazed  I  bide 
The  mercy  of  the  comber  that  shall  end  me. 


SDerelitt.  73 


North  where  the  bergs  careen, 
The  spray  of  seas  unseen 

Smokes  round  my  head  and  freezes  in  the  fall- 
ing; 

South  where  the  corals  breed, 
The  footless,  floating  weed 

Folds  me  and  fouls  me,  strake  on  strake  upcrawl- 
ing. 

I  that  was  clean  to  run 

My  race  against  the  sun — 
Strength  on  the  deep,  am  bawd  to  all  disaster — 

Whipped  forth  by  night  to  meet 

My  sister's  careless  feet, 
And  with  a  kiss  betray  her  to  my  master! 

Man  made  me,  and  my  will 

Is  to  my  maker  still — 
To  him  and  his,  our  peoples  at  their  pier: 

Lifting  in  hope  to  spy 

Trailed  smoke  along  the  sky; 
Falling  afraid  lest  any  keel  come  near! 


THE  SONG  OF  THE   BANJO. 

You  couldn't  pack  a  Broadwood  half  a  mile — 

You  mustn't  leave  a  fiddle  in  the  damp — 
You  couldn't  raft  an  organ  up  the  Nile, 

And  play  it  in  an  Equatorial  swamp. 
/  travel  with  the  cooking-pots  and  pails — 

I'm   sandwiched    'tween    the    coffee    and  the 

pork — 
And  when  the  dusty  column  checks  and  tails, 

You  should  hear  me  spur  the  rearguard  to  a 
walk! 

With  my  "  Pilly-willy-winky-wtnky  popp  !  " 
[O  it's    any  tune   that    comes    into    my 

head!] 
So   I   keep  'em    moving  forward   till   they 

drop; 
So  I  play  'em  up  to  water  and  to  bed. 

In  the  silence  of  the  camp  before  the  fight, 
When  it's  good  to  make  your  will  and  say 
your  prayer, 

74 


(Etje  Song  of  tfje  f3on|o.  75 

You  can  hear  my  strumpty-tumpty  overnight 
Explaining  ten  to  one  was  always  fair. 

I'm  the  prophet  of  the  Utterly  Absurd, 
Of  the  Patently  Impossible  and  Vain — 

And  when  the  Thing  that  Couldn't  has  occurred, 
Give  me  time  to  change  my  leg  and  go  again. 

With  my   "  Tumpa-tumpa-tumpa-tum-pa 

tump  !  ' ' 

In  the  desert  where  the  dung-fed  camp- 
smoke  curled 
There  was  never  voice  before   us  till  I  led 

our  lonely  chorus, 

I — the  war-drum  of  the  White  Man  round 
the  world ! 

By  the  bitter  road  the  Younger  Son  must  tread, 

Ere  he  win  to  hearth  and  saddle  of  his  own, — 
'Mid  the  riot  of  the  shearers  at  the  shed, 

In  the  silence  of  the  herder's  hut  alone — 
In  the  twilight,  on  a  bucket  upside  down, 

Hear  me  babble  what  the  weakest  won't  con- 
fess— 
I  am  Memory  and  Torment — I  am  Town ! 

I  am  all  that  ever  went  with  evening  dress  I 


76  ®l)e  00ng  of  tlje  33cmj0. 

With     my     "  Tunk-a     tunka-tunha-tunka- 

tunh!" 
[So  the  lights — the   London  lights — grow 

near  and  plain !] 
So  I  rowel  'em  afresh  towards  the  Devil  and 

the  Flesh, 
Till  I  bring  my  broken  rankers  home  again. 

In  desire  of  many  marvels  over  sea, 

Where  the  new-raised  tropic  city  sweats  and 

roars, 
I  have  sailed  with  Young  Ulysses  from  the  quay 

Till   the  anchor  rumbled    down    on   stranger 

shores. 
He  is  blooded  to  the  open  and  the  sky, 

He  is  taken  in  a  snare  that  shall  not  fail, 
He  shall  hear  me  singing  strongly,  till  he  die, 

Like  the  shouting  of  a  backstay  in  a  gale. 

With  my  "Hya!  Heeya!  Heeya!  Hullah! 

Haul!" 
[O  the  green  that  thunders  aft  along  the 

deck!] 
Are   you   sick  o'  towns  and    men  ?     You 

must  sign  and  sail  again, 
For  it's  "Johnny  Bowlegs,  pack  your  kit 
and  trek!" 


Song  of  tlje  Banjo.  77 


Through  the  gorge  that  gives  the  stars  at  noon- 

day clear  — 
Up  the  pass  that  packs  the  scud  beneath  our 

wheel  — 
Round  the  bluff  that  sinks  her  thousand  fathom 

sheer  — 
Down   the  valley  with   our  guttering  brakes 

asqueal  : 
Where    the  trestle   groans  and    quivers   in    the 

snow, 
Where    the    many-shedded    levels    loop    and 

twine, 

So  I  lead  my  reckless  children  from  below 
Till  we  sing  the  Song  of  Roland  to  the  pine. 

With  my  "  Tinka-tinka-tinka-tinka-tink  !  " 
[And  the  axe  has  cleared  the  mountain, 

croup  and  crest!] 

So  we  ride  the  iron  stallions  down  to  drink, 
Through  the  canons  to  the  waters  of  the 
West! 

And   the   tunes   that    mean    so    much   to   you 

alone  — 

Common    tunes   that   make   you    choke  and 
blow  your  nose, 


73  2H)c  Song  of  tt)e 


Vulgar  tunes  that  bring  the  laugh  that  brings  the 

groan  — 
I    can    rip    your    very    heartstrings    out   with 

those  ; 
With  the  feasting,  and  the  folly,  and  the  fun  — 

And  the  lying,  and  the  lusting,  and  the  drink, 
And    the    merry    play    that    drops    you,    when 

you're  done, 

To  the  thoughts  that  burn   like  irons  if  you 
think. 

With    my    '  '  Plunka  -  lunka  -  lunha  -  lunka- 

lunh!" 

Here's  a  trifle  on  account  of  pleasure  past, 
Ere  the  wit  that  made  you  win  gives  you 

eyes  to  see  your  sin 
And  the  heavier  repentance  at  the  last. 

Let  the  organ  moan  her  sorrow  to  the  roof— 

I  have  told  the  naked  stars  the  grief  of  man. 
Let  the  trumpets  snare  the  foeman  to  the  proof— 

I  have  known  Defeat,  and  mocked  it  as  we  ran. 
My  bray  ye  may  not  alter  nor  mistake 

When  I  stand  to  jeer  the  fatted  Soul  of  Things, 
But  the  Song  of  Lost  Endeavour  that  I  make, 

Is  it  hidden  in  the  twanging  of  the  strings  ? 


0f  tlj*  %an\a.  79 


With  my  "  Ta-r  a-r  ara-rara-ra-ra-rrrp  !  " 
[Is  it  naught  to  you  that  hear  and  pass 

me  by  ?] 
But  the  word  —  the  word  is  mine,  when  the 

order  moves  the  line 

And   the   lean,   locked   ranks   go   roaring 
down  to  die. 

The  grandam  of  my  grandam  was  the  Lyre  — 

[O  the  blue  below  the  little  fisher-huts!] 
That  the  Stealer  stooping  beachward  filled  with 
fire, 

Till  she  bore  my  iron  head  and  ringing  guts! 
By  the  wisdom  of  the  centuries  I  speak  — 

To  the  tune  of  yestermorn  I  set  the  truth  — 
I,  the  joy  of  life  unquestioned  —  I,  the  Greek  — 

I,  the  everlasting  Wonder  Song  of  Youth  ! 

With  my  '  '  Tinka-tinka-tinka-tinka-tink  !  '  ' 
[What    d'ye    lack,    my  noble  masters? 

What  d'ye  lack  ?] 

So  I  draw  the  world  together  link  by  link  : 
Yea,    from    Delos    up    to    Limerick    and 
back! 


"THE  LINER  SHE'S  A  LADY." 

THE  Liner  she's  a  lady,  'an  she  never  looks  nor 

'eeds — 
The  Man-o'- War's  'er  'usband,  an'  'e  gives  'er  all 

she  needs; 
But,  oh,  the  little  cargo-boats,  that  sail  the  wet 

seas  roun', 
They're  just  the  same  as  you  an'  me  a-plyin'  up 

an'  down ! 

Ply  in'  up  an'  down,  Jenny,  'angin'  round  the 
Yard, 

All  the  way  by  Fratton  tram  down  to  Ports- 
mouth 'Ard; 

Anythin'  for  business,  an'  we're  growin'  old — 

Ply  in'  up  an'  down,  Jenny,  waitin'  in  the 
cold  ! 

The  Liner  she's  a  lady  by  the  paint  upon  'er  face, 
An'  if  she  meets  an  accident  they  call  it  sore  dis- 
grace: 


Citter  slje'0  a  £a&.  81 


The  Man-o'-War's  'er  'usband,  and  'e's  always 

'andy  by, 
But,  oh,  the  little  cargo-boats  !  they've  got  to  load 

or  die. 

The  Liner  she's  a  lady,  and  'er  route  is  cut  an' 

dried  ; 
The  Man-o'-War's  'er  'usband,  an'  'e  always  keeps 

beside; 
But,   oh,  the  little  cargo-boats  that  'aven't  any 

man! 
They've  got  to  do  their  business  first,  and  make 

the  most  they  can. 

The  Liner  she's  a   lady,   and    if  a  war   should 

come, 
The  Man-o'-War's  'er  'usband,  and  'e'd  bid  'er  stay 

at  home; 
But,  oh,  the  little  cargo-boats  that  fill  with  every 

tide! 
'E'd  'ave  to  up  an'  fight  for  them,  for  they  are 

England's  pride. 

The  Liner  she's  a  lady,  but  if  she  wasn't  made, 
There  still  would  be  the  cargo-boats  for  'ome  an' 
foreign  trade. 


82  f&tye  Ciner  slje'0  a 


The  Man-o'-War's  'er  'usband,  but  if  we  wasn't 

'ere, 
'E  wouldn't  have  to  fight  at  all  for  'ome  an'  friends 

so  dear. 

'  Ome  an'  friends  so  dear,  Jenny,  'angiri  round 

the  Yard, 
All  the  way  by  Fratton  tram  down  to  Ports- 

mouth 'Ard; 

Any  thin'  for  business,  an'  we're  growin'  old  — 
'Ome  an'  friends  so  dear,  Jenny,  waitin'  in  the 

cold! 


MULHOLLAND'S  CONTRACT. 

THE  fear  was  on  the  cattle,  for  the  gale  was  on  the 

sea, 
An'  the  pens  broke  up  on  the  lower  deck  an'  let 

the  creatures  free — 
An'  the  lights  went  out  on  the  lower  deck,  an'  no 

one  down  but  me. 

I  had  been  singin'  to  them  to  keep  'em  quiet 

there, 
For  the  lower  deck  is  the  dangerousest,  requirin' 

constant  care, 
An'  give  to  me  as  the  strongest  man,  though  used 

to  drink  and  swear. 

I  see  my  chance  was  certain  of  bein'  horned  or 

trod, 
For  the  lower  deck  was  packed  with  steers  thicker 

'n  peas  in  a  pod, 
An'  more  pens  broke  at  every  roll — so  I  made  a 

Contract  with  God. 


84  iHulljoUanb's  Contract 


An'  by  the  terms  of  the  Contract,  as  I  have  read 

the  same, 
If  He  got  me  to  port  alive  I  would  exalt  His 

name, 
An'  praise  His  Holy  Majesty  till  further  orders 

came. 

He  saved  me  from  the  cattle  an'  He  saved  me  from 

the  sea, 
For  they  found  me  'tween  two  drownded  ones 

where  the  roll  had  landed  me  — 
An'  a  four-inch  crack  on  top  of  my  head,  as  crazy 

as  could  be. 

But  that  were  done  by  a  stanchion,  an'  not  by  a 

bullock  at  all, 
An'  I  lay  still  for  seven  weeks  convalessing  of  the 

fall, 
An'  readin'  the  shiny  Scripture  texts  in  the  Sea- 

men's Hospital. 

An'  I  spoke  to  God  of  our  Contract,  an'  He  says 

to  my  prayer: 
"  1  never  puts  on  My  ministers  no  more  than  they 

can  bear. 

"  So  back  you  go  to  the  cattle-boats  an'  preach 
My  Gospel  there. 


ittnltjoUanb's  (Contract.  85 

"  For  human  life  is  chancy  at  any  kind  of  trade, 
"  But  most  of  all,  as  well  you  know,  when  the 

steers  are  mad-afraid; 
"So  you  go  back  to  the  cattle-boats  an'  preach 

'em  as  I've  said. 

"They  must    quit    drinkin'    an'   swearin',   they 

mustn't  knife  on  a  blow, 
"They  must  quit  gamblin'  their  wages,  and  you 

must  preach  it  so ; 
"  For  now  those  boats  are  more  like  Hell  than 

anything  else  I  know." 

I  didn't  want  to  do  it,  for  I  knew  what  I  should 

get, 
An'  I  wanted  to  preach  Religion,  handsome  an' 

out  of  the  wet, 
But  the  Word  of  the  Lord  were  lain  on  me,  an'  I 

done  what  I  was  set. 

I  have  been  smit  an'  bruised,  as  warned  would  be 
the  case, 

An'  turned  my  cheek  to  the  smiter  exactly  as  Scrip- 
ture says ; 

But  following  that,  I  knocked  him  down  an'  led 
him  up  to  Grace. 


86  iffltall)0Uan&'0  Contract. 

An'  we  have  preaching  on  Sundays  whenever  the 

sea  is  calm, 
An'  I  use  no  knife  nor  pistol  an'  I  never  take  no 

harm, 
For  the  Lord  abideth  back  of  me  to  guide  my 

fighting  arm. 

An'  I  sign  for  four  pound  ten  a  month  and  save  the 

money  clear, 
An'  I  am  in  charge  of  the  lower  deck,  an'  I  never 

lose  a  steer; 
An'  I  believe  in  .Almighty  God  an'  I  preach  His 

Gospel  here. 

The  skippers  say  I'm  crazy,  but  I  can  prove  'em 

wrong, 
For  I  am  in  charge  of  the  lower  deck  with  all  that 

doth  belong — 
Which  they  would  not  give  to  a  lunatic,  and  the 

competition  so  strong! 


ANCHOR  SONG. 

(From  (Many  Inventions). 

HEH  !  Walk  her  round.     Heave,  ah  heave  her  short 

again ! 
Over,  snatch  her  over,  there,  and  hold  her  on 

the  pawl. 
Loose  all  sail,  and  brace  your  yards  aback  and 

full- 
Ready  jib  to  pay  her  off  and  heave  short  all ! 

Well,  ah  fare  you  well;  we  can  stay  no  more 

with  you,  my  love — 

Down,  set  down  your  liquor  and  your  girl 
from  off  your  knee ; 
For  the  wind  has  come  to  say: 
"  You  must  take  me  while  you  may, 
If  you'd  go  to  Mother  Carey, 
(Walk  her  down  to  Mother  Carey !) 
Oh,    we're   bound   to  Mother   Carey  where 
she  feeds  her  chicks  at  sea ! " 


88  £ncl)0r  Song. 


Heh !  Walk  her  round.     Break,  ah  break  it  out  o' 

that! 
Break  our  starboard  bower  out,  apeak,  awash, 

and  clear. 
Port — port  she  casts,  with  the  harbour-roil  beneath 

her  foot, 

And  that's  the  last  o'  bottom  we  shall  see  this 
year! 

Well,  ah  fare  you  well,  for  we've  got  to  take 

her  out  again — 

Take  her  out    in    ballast,   riding  light    and 
cargo-free. 

And  it's  time  to  clear  and  quit 
When  the  hawser  grips  the  bitt, 
So  we'll  pay  you  with  the  foresheet  and  a 
promise  from  the  sea ! 

Heh!  Tally  on!    Aft  and  walk  away  with  her! 

Handsome  to  the  cathead,  now ;  O  tally  on  the 

fall! 
Stop,  seize  and  fish,  and  easy  on  the  davit-guy. 

Up,  well  up  the  fluke  of  her,  and  inboard  haul ! 

Well,  ah  fare  you  well,  for  the  Channel  wind's 
took  hold  of  us, 


Slncljor  Song.  89 


Choking  down  our  voices  as  we  snatch  the 
gaskets  free. 

And  it's  blowing  up  for  night, 
And  she's  dropping  Light  on  Light, 
And    she's    snorting  under    bonnets    for    a 
breath  of  open  sea. 

Wheel,  full  and  by ;  but  she'll  smell  her  road  alone 

to-night. 
Sick  she  is  and  harbour-sick — O  sick  to  clear  the 

land! 
Roll  down  to  Brest  with   the  old   Red  Ensign 

over  us — 

Carry  on  and  thrash  her  out  with  all  she'll 
stand ! 

Well,  ah  fare  you  well,  and  it's  Ushant  gives 

the  door  to  us, 

Whirling  like  a  windmill  on  the  dirty  scud 
to  lea: 

Till  the  last,  last  flicker  goes 
From  the  tumbling  water-rows, 
And  we're  off  to  Mother  Carey 
(Walk  her  down  to  Mother  Carey!) 
Oh,  we're  bound  for   Mother   Carey  where 
she  feeds  her  chicks  at  sea! 
7 


THE  SEA-WIFE. 

THERE  dwells  a  wife  by  the  Northern  Gate, 

And  a  wealthy  wife  is  she; 
She  breeds  a  breed  o'  rovin'  men 

And  casts  them  over  sea, 

And  some  are  drowned  in  deep  water, 

And  some  in  sight  o'  shore. 
And  word  goes  back  to  the  weary  wife, 

And  ever  she  sends  more. 

For  since  that  wife  had  gate  and  gear, 
And  hearth  and  garth  and  bield, 

She  willed  her  sons  to  the  white  harvest, 
And  that  is  a  bitter  yield. 

She  wills  her  sons  to  the  wet  ploughing, 

To  ride  the  horse  of  tree ; 
And  syne  her  sons  come  home  again 

Far-spent  from  out  the  sea. 


91 


The  good  wife's  sons  come  home  again 

With  little  into  their  hands, 
But  the  lore  of  men  that  ha'  dealt  with  men 

In  the  new  and  naked  lands. 


But  the  faith  of  men  that  ha'  brothered  men 

By  more  than  the  easy  breath, 
And  the  eyes  o'  men  that  ha'  read  wi'  men 

In  the  open  books  of  death. 

Rich  are  they,  rich  in  wonders  seen, 

But  poor  in  the  goods  o'  men, 
So  what  they  ha'  got  by  the  skin  o'  their  teeth 

They  sell  for  their  teeth  again. 

For  whether  they  lose  to  the  naked  skin, 

Or  win  to  their  hearts'  desire, 
They  tell  it  all  to  the  weary  wife 

That  nods  beside  the  fire. 


Her  hearth  is  wide  to  every  wind 
That  makes  the  white  ash  spin ; 

And  tide  and  tide  and  'tween  the  tides 
Her  sons  go  out  and  in; 


92 


(Out  with  great  mirth  that  do  desire 

Hazard  of  trackless  ways, 
In  with  content  to  wait  their  watch 

And  warm  before  the  blaze) ; 

And  some  return  by  failing  light, 

And  some  in  waking  dream, 
For  she  hears  the  heels  of  the  dripping  ghosts 

That  ride  the  rough  roof-beam. 

Home,  they  come  home  from  all  the  ports, 

The  living  and  the  dead; 
The  good  wife's  sons  come  home  again 

For  her  blessing  on  their  head ! 


HYMN   BEFORE   ACTION. 

THE  earth  is  full  of  anger, 

The  seas  are  dark  with  wrath ; 
The  Nations  in  their  harness 

Go  up  against  our  path ! 
Ere  yet  we  loose  the  legions — 

Ere  yet  we  draw  the  blade, 
Jehovah  of  the  Thunders, 

Lord  God  of  Battles,  aid ! 


High  lust  and  froward  bearing, 

Proud  heart,  rebellious  brow — 
Deaf  ear  and  soul  uncaring, 

We  seek  Thy  mercy  now : 
The  sinner  that  forswore  Thee, 

The  fool  that  passed  Thee  by, 
Our  times  are  known  before  Thec- 

Lord,  grant  us  strength  to  die ! 


94  $gmn  before  SUtion. 


For  those  who  kneel  beside  us 

At  altars  not  Thine  own, 
Who  lack  the  lights  that  guide  us, 

Lord,  let  their  faith  atone  ; 
If  wrong  we  did  to  call  them, 

By  honour  bound  they  came; 
Let  not  Thy  wrath  befall  them, 

But  deal  to  us  the  blame. 

From  panic,  pride,  and  terror, 

Revenge  that  knows  no  rein  — 
Light  haste  and  lawless  error, 

Protect  us  yet  again. 
Cloak  Thou  our  undeserving, 

Make  firm  the  shuddering  breath, 
In  silence  and  unswerving 

To  taste  thy  lesser  death  ! 

Ah,  Mary  pierced  with  sorrow, 

Remember,  reach  and  save 
The  soul  that  comes  to-morrow 

Before  the  God  that  gave! 
Since  each  was  born  of  woman, 

For  each  at  utter  need  — 
True  comrade  and  true  foeman, 

Madonna,  intercede! 


before  Action.  95 


E'en  now  their  vanguard  gathers, 

E'en  now  we  face  the  fray  — 
As  Thou  didst  help  our  fathers, 

Help  Thou  our  host  to-day! 
Fulfilled  of  signs  and  wonders, 

In  life,  in  death  made  clear  — 
Jehovah  of  the  Thunders, 

Lord  God  of  Battles,  hear! 


TO  THE  TRUE   ROMANCE. 

(From  ZMany  Inventions.) 

Thy  face  is  far  from  this  our  war, 

Our  call  and  counter-cry, 
I  shall  not  find  Thee  quick  and  kind, 

Nor  know  Thee  till  I  die : 
Enough  for  me  in  dreams  to  see 

And  touch  Thy  garments'  hem  : 
Thy  feet  have  trod  so  near  to  God 

I  may  not  follow  them. 

Through  wantonness  if  men  profess 

They  weary  of  Thy  parts, 
E'en  let  them  die  at  blasphemy 

And  perish  with  their  arts ; 
But  we  that  love,  but  we  that  prove 

Thine  excellence  august, 
While  we  adore  discover  more 

Thee  perfect,  wise,  and  just 

Since  spoken  word  Man's  Spirit  stirred 

Beyond  his  belly-need, 
What  is  is  Thine  of  fair  design 

In  thought  and  craft  and  deed ; 


tl)e  ffirne  Romance.  97 


Each  stroke  aright  of  toil  and  fight, 

That  was  and  that  shall  be, 
And  hope  too  high,  wherefore  we  die, 

Has  birth  and  worth  in  Thee. 

Who  holds  by  Thee  hath  Heaven  in  fee 

To  gild  his  dross  thereby, 
And  knowledge  sure  that  he  endure 

A  child  until  he  die  — 
For  to  make  plain  that  man's  disdain 

Is  but  new  Beauty's  birth  — 
For  to  possess,  in  loneliness, 

The  joy  of  all  the  earth. 

As  Thou  didst  teach  all  lovers  speech, 

And  Life  all  mystery, 
So  shalt  Thou  rule  by  every  school 

Till  love  and  longing  die, 
Who  wast  or  yet  the  lights  were  set, 

A  whisper  in  the  Void, 
Who  shalt  be  sung  through  planets  young 

When  this  is  clean  destroyed. 

Beyond  the  bounds  our  staring  rounds, 

Across  the  pressing  dark, 
The  children  wise  of  outer  skies 

Look  hitherward  and  mark 


98  8T0  ilje  QLme  Eomcmc*. 

A  light  that  shifts,  a  glare  that  drifts, 
Rekindling  thus  and  thus, 

Not  all  forlorn,  for  Thou  hast  borne 
Strange  tales  to  them  of  us. 

Time  hath  no  tide  but  must  abide 

The  servant  of  Thy  will; 
Tide  hath  no  time,  for  to  Thy  rhyme 

The  ranging  stars  stand  still — 
Regent  of  spheres  that  lock  our  fears 

Our  hopes  invisible, 
Oh  'twas  certes  at  Thy  decrees 

We  fashioned  Heaven  and  Hell! 

Pure  Wisdom  hath  no  certain  path 

That  lacks  thy  morning-eyne, 
And  captains  bold  by  Thee  controlled 

Most  like  to  Gods  design ; 
Thou  art  the  Voice  to  kingly  boys 

To  lift  them  through  the  fight, 
And  Comfortress  of  Unsuccess, 

To  give  the  dead  good-night — 

A  veil  to  draw  'twixt  God  His  Law 

And  Man's  infirmity, 
A  shadow  kind  to  dumb  and  blind 

The  shambles  where  we  die; 


Romance.  99 


A  sum  to  trick  th'  arithmetic 

Too  base  of  leaguing  odds, 
The  spur  of  trust,  the  curb  of  lust, 

Thou  handmaid  of  the  Gods! 

Oh  Charity,  all  patiently 

Abiding  wrack  and  scaith  ! 
Oh  Faith,  that  meets  ten  thousand  cheats 

Yet  drops  no  jot  of  faith  ! 
Devil  and  brute  Thou  dost  transmute 

To  higher,  lordlier  show, 
Who  art  in  sooth  that  lovely  Truth 

The  careless  angels  know! 

Thy  face  is  far  from  this  our  war, 

Our  call  and  counter-cry, 
I  may  not  find  Thee  quick  and  kind, 

Nor  meet  Thee  till  I  die. 

Yet  may  I  look  with  heart  unshook 

On  blow  brought  home  or  missed  — 
Yet  may  I  hear  with  equal  ear 

The  clarions  down  the  list; 
Yet  set  my  lance  above  mischance 

And  ride  the  barriere  — 
Oh,  hit  or  miss,  how  little  'tis, 

My  Lady  is  not  there  ! 


THE   FLOWERS. 

"  To  our  private  taste,  there  is  always  something  a  little  ex- 
otic, almost  artificial,  in  songs  which,  under  an  English  aspect 
and  dress,  are  yet  so  manifestly  the  product  of  other  skies.  They 
affect  us  like  translations  ;  the  very  fauna  and  flora  are  alien,  re- 
mote ;  the  dog's-tooth  violet  is  but  an  ill  substitute  for  the  rathe 
primrose,  nor  can  we  ever  believe  that  the  wood-robin  sings  as 
sweetly  in  April  as  the  English  thrush." — The  Athenceum. 

Buy  my  English  posies — 

Kent  and  Surrey  may, 
Violets  of  the  Under  cliff 

Wet  with  Channel  spray  ; 
Cowslips  from  a  Devon  combe 

Midland  fur^e  afire — 
Buy  my  English  posies, 

And  I'll  sell  your  hearts'  desire! 

Buy  my  English  posies ! — 

You  that  scorn  the  may 
Won't  you  greet  a  friend  from  home 

Half  the  world  away  ? 
100 


®l)c  flowers. 


Green  against  the  draggled  drift, 

Faint  and  frail  and  first — 
Buy  my  Northern  blood-root 
And  I'll  know  where  you  were  nursed ! 

Robin  down  the  logging-road  whistles,   "Come 
to  me," 

Spring  has  found  the  maple-grove,  the  sap  is  run- 
ning free; 

All   the  winds   o'   Canada    call    the    ploughing- 
rain. 

Take  the  flower  and  turn  the  hour,  and  kiss  your 
love  again ! 


Buy  my  English  posies! — 

Here's  to  match  your  need. 
Buy  a  tuft  of  royal  heath, 

Buy  a  bunch  of  weed 
White  as  sand  of  Muysenberg 

Spun  before  the  gale — 
Buy  my  heath  and  lilies 

And  I'll  tell  you  whence  you  hail! 
Under    hot    Constantia    broad     the    vineyards 

lie- 
Throned  and  thorned  the  aching  berg  props  the 

speckless  sky — 


Slow  below  the  Wynberg  firs   trails  the  tilted 

wain — 
Take  the  flower  and  turn  the  hour,  and  kiss  your 

love  again ! 


Buy  my  English  posies ! — 

You  that  will  not  turn, 
Buy  my  hot-wood  clematis, 

Buy  a  frond  o'  fern 
Gathered  where  the  Erskine  leaps 

Down  the  road  to  Lome — 
Buy  my  Christmas  creeper 

And  I'll  say  where  you  were  born ! 
West  away  from  Melbourne  dust  holidays  begin — 
They  that  mock  at  Paradise  woo  at  Cora  Lynn — 
Through  the  great  South  Otway  gums  sings  the 

great  South  Main — 

Take  the  flower  and  turn  the  hour,  and  kiss  your 
love  again! 


Buy  my  English  posies ! — 
Here's  your  choice  unsold! 

Buy  a  blood-red  myrtle-bloom, 
Buy  the  kowhai's  gold 


Mowers.  103 


Flung  for  gift  on  Taupo's  face 

Sign  that  spring  is  come — 
Buy  my  clinging  myrtle 

And  I'll  give  you  back  your  home! 
Broom  behind  the  windy  town  ;   pollen  o'  the 

pine — 
Bell-bird    in    the    leafy    deep    where    the   ratas 

twine — 

Fern  above  the  saddle-bow,  flax  upon  the  plain — 
Take  the  flower  and  turn  the  hour,  and  kiss  your 

love  again ! 

Buy  my  English  posies ! 

Ye  that  have  your  own 
Buy  them  for  a  brother's  sake 

Overseas,  alone. 
Weed  ye  trample  underfoot 
Floods  his  heart  abrim — 
Bird  ye  never  heeded, 

Oh,  she  calls  his  dead  to  him ! 
Far  and  far  our  homes  are  set  round  the  Seven  Seas. 
Woe  for  us  if  we  forget,  we  that  hold  by  these  1 
Unto  each  his  mother-beach,  bloom  and  bird  and 

land — 

Masters  of  the  Seven  Seas,  oh,  love  and  under- 
stand! 


THE  LAST  RHYME  OF  TRUE  THOMAS. 

THE  King  has  called  for  priest  and  cup, 

The  King  has  taken  spur  and  blade 
To  dub  True  Thomas  a  belted  knight, 

And  all  for  the  sake  o'  the  songs  he  made. 

They  have  sought  him  high,  they  have  sought 
him  low, 

They  have  sought  him  over  down  and  lea ; 
They  have  found  him  by  the  milk-white  thorn 

That  guards  the  gates  o'  Faerie. 

'  Twas  bent  beneath  and  blue  above, 
Their  eyes  were  held  that  they  might  not  see 

The  kine  that  graced  between  the  knowes, 
Oh,  they  were  the  Queens  o'  Faerie  ! 

"Now  cease  your  song,"  the  King  he  said, 
"Oh,  cease  your  song  and  get  you  dight 

To  vow  your  vow  and  watch  your  arms, 
For  I  will  dub  you  a  belted  knight. 

104 


of  f&rne  (Eljomaa.      105 


"  For  I  will  give  you  a  horse  o'  pride, 
Wi'  blazon  and  spur  and  page  and  squire  ; 

Wi'  keep  and  tail  and  seizin  and  law, 
And  land  to  hold  at  your  desire." 

True  Thomas  smiled  above  his  harp, 
And  turned  his  face  to  the  naked  sky, 

Where,  blown  before  the  wastrel  wind, 
The  thistle-down  she  floated  by. 

"  I  ha'  vowed  my  vow  in  another  place, 

And  bitter  oath  it  was  on  me, 
I  ha'  watched  my  arms  the  lee-long  night, 

Where  five-score  fighting-men  would  flee. 

"My  lance  is  tipped  o'  the  hammered  flame, 
My  shield  is  beat  o'  the  moonlight  cold; 

And  I  won  my  spurs  in  the  Middle  World, 
A  thousand  fathoms  beneath  the  mould. 


"And  what  should  I  make  wi'  a  horse  o'  pride, 
And  what  should  I  make  wi'  a  sword  so  brown, 

But  spill  the  rings  o'  the  Gentle  Folk 
And  flyte  my  kin  in  the  Fairy  Town  ? 


106      (Tl)c  jDa0t  Ul)tjmc  of  (True  Cljomas. 

"And  what  should  I  make  wi'  blazon  and  belt, 
Wi'  keep  and  tail  and  seizin  and  fee, 

And  what  should  I  do  wi'  page  and  squire 
That  am  a  king  in  my  own  countrie  ? 


"  For  I  send  east  and  I  send  west, 

And  I  send  far  as  my  will  may  flee, 
By  dawn  and  dusk  and  the  drinking  rain, 

And  syne  my  Sendings  return  to  me. 

"They  come  wi'  news  of  the  groanin'  earth, 
They  come  wi'  news  o'  the  roarin'  sea, 

Wi'  word  of  Spirit  and  Ghost  and  Flesh, 
And  man  that's  mazed  among  the  three." 

The  King  he  bit  his  nether  lip, 
And  smote  his  hand  upon  his  knee: 

"  By  the  faith  o'  my  soul,  True  Thomas,"  he  said, 
"Ye  waste  no  wit  in  courtesie! 


"As  I  desire,  unto  my  pride, 

Can  I  make  Earls  by  three  and  three, 
To  run  before  and  ride  behind 

And  serve  the  sons  o'  my  body." 


®l)e  Cast  ftljsme  of  Sme  JEfyomao.      107 

"And  what  care  I  for  your  row-foot  earls, 

Or  all  the  sons  o'  your  body  ? 
Before  they  win  to  the  Pride  o'  Name, 

I  trow  they  all  ask  leave  o'  me. 

"For  I  make  Honour  wi'  muckle  mouth, 

As  I  make  Shame  wi'  mincin'  feet, 
To  sing  wi'  the  priests  at  the  market-cross, 

Or  run  wi'  the  dogs  in  the  naked  street. 

"And  some  they  give  me  the  good  red  gold, 
And  some  they  give  me  the  white  money, 

And  some  they  give  me  a  clout  o'  meal, 
For  they  be  people  o'  low  degree. 

"And  the  song  I  sing  for  the  counted  gold 
The  same  I  sing  for  the  white  money, 

But  best  I  sing  for  the  clout  o'  meal 
That  simple  people  given  me." 

The  King  cast  down  a  silver  groat, 

A  silver  groat  o'  Scots  money, 
"  If  I  come  with  a  poor  man's  dole,"  he  said, 

"True  Thomas,  will  ye  harp  to  me ?" 


io8     ©Ije  Cost  BbBme  ot  ®me 


"  Whenas  I  harp  to  the  children  small, 
They  press  me  close  on  either  hand  : 

And  who  are  you,"  True  Thomas  said, 

"That  you  should  ride  while  they  must  stand  ? 

"  Light  down,  light  down  from  your  horse  o'  pride, 

I  trow  ye  talk  too  loud  and  hie, 
And  I  will  make  you  a  triple  word, 

And  syne,  if  ye  dare,  ye  shall  'noble  me." 

He  has  lighted  down  from  his  horse  o'  pride, 

And  set  his  back  against  the  stone. 
"Now  guard  you  well,"  True  Thomas  said, 

"  Ere  I  rax  your  heart  from  your  breast-bone! 

True  Thomas  played  upon  his  harp, 

The  fairy  harp  that  couldna'  lee, 
And  the  first  least  word  the  proud  King  heard, 

It  harpit  the  salt  tear  out  o'  his  ee. 

"  Oh,  I  see  the  love  that  I  lost  long  syne, 
I  touch  the  hope  that  I  may  not  see, 

And  all  that  I  did  o'  hidden  shame, 
Like  little  snakes  they  hiss  at  me. 


of  QLxne  2Cl)0tna0.      109 


"The  sun  is  lost  at  noon  —  at  noon! 

The  dread  o'  doom  has  grippit  me. 
True  Thomas,  hide  me  under  your  cloak, 

God  wot,  I'm  little  fit  to  dee!  " 

'  Twas  bent  beneath  and  blue  above  — 
'Twas  open  field  and  running  flood  — 

Where,  hot  on  heath  and  dyke  and  wall, 
The  high  sun  warmed  the  adder's  brood. 

"Lie  down,  lie  down,"  True  Thomas  said. 

"The  God  shall  judge  when  all  is  done; 
But  I  will  bring  you  a  better  word 

And  lift  the  cloud  that  I  laid  on." 


True  Thomas  played  upon  his  harp, 
That  birled  and  brattled  to  his  hand, 

And  the  next  least  word  True  Thomas  made, 
It  garred  the  King  take  horse  and  brand. 

"Oh,  I  hear  the  tread  o'  the  fighting-men, 
I  see  the  sun  on  splent  and  spear! 

I  mark  the  arrow  outen  the  fern ! 
That  flies  so  low  and  sings  so  clear! 


£a0t  ftl)gme  of  (Erne  ffttyomas. 


"Advance  my  standards  to  that  war, 
And  bid  my  good  knights  prick  and  ride  ; 

The  gled  shall  watch  as  fierce  a  fight 
As  e'er  was  fought  on  the  Border  side!  " 

'  Twas  bent  beneath  and  blue  above, 
'Twas  nodding  grass  and  naked  sky, 

Where  ringing  up  the  wastrel  wind 
The  eyass  stooped  upon  the  pye. 

True  Thomas  sighed  above  his  harp, 
And  turned  the  song  on  the  midmost  string; 

And  the  last  least  word  True  Thomas  made 
He  harpit  his  dead  youth  back  to  the  King. 

"Now  I  am  prince,  and  I  do  well 

To  love  my  love  withouten  fear; 
To  walk  wi'  man  in  fellowship, 

And  breathe  my  horse  behind  the  deer. 

"  My  hounds  they  bay  unto  the  death, 
The  buck  has  couched  beyond  the  burn, 

My  love  she  waits  at  her  window 
To  wash  my  hands  when  I  return. 


0f 


"  For  that  I  live  am  I  content 

(Oh  !  I  have  seen  my  true  love's  eyes  !) 
To  stand  wi'  Adam  in  Eden-glade, 

And  run  in  the  woods  o'  Paradise!" 


'  Twas  nodding  grass  and  naked  sky, 
'  Twas  blue  above  and  bent  below, 

Where,  checked  against  the  wastrel  wind. 
The  red  'deer  belled  to  call  the  doe. 


True  Thomas  laid  his  harp  away, 
And  louted  low  at  the  saddle-side; 

He  has  taken  stirrup  and  hauden  rein, 
And  set  the  King  on  his  horse  o'  pride. 

"Sleep  ye  or  wake,"  True  Thomas  said, 
"  That  sit  so  still,  that  muse  so  long; 

Sleep  ye  or  wake  ? — till  the  latter  sleep 
I  trow  ye'll  not  forget  my  song. 

"I  ha'  harpit  a  shadow  out  o'  the  sun 
To  stand  before  your  face  and  cry; 

I  ha'  armed  the  earth  beneath  your  heel, 
And  over  your  head  I  ha'  dusked  the  sky! 


£asl  Bl)Bme  0f  (Erne  2TI)omas. 


"  I  ha'  harpit  ye  up  to  the  Throne  o'  God, 
I  ha'  harpit  your  secret  soul  in  three  ; 

I  ha'  harpit  ye  down  to  the  Hinges  o'  Hell, 
And  —  ye  —  would  —  make  —  a  Knight  o'  me  ! 


THE  STORY  OF  UNO. 

ONCE,  on  a   glittering   ice-field,   ages  and   ages 

ago, 
Ung,  a  maker  of  pictures,  fashioned  an  image  of 

snow. 
Fashioned   the   form   of  a   tribesman — gaily  he 

whistled  and  sung, 
Working  the  snow  with  his  fingers.     Read  ye  the 

Story  of  Ung! 


Pleased  was  his  tribe  with  that  image — came  in 

their  hundreds  to  scan — 
Handled  it,  smelt  it,  and  grunted:  "Verily,  this  is 

a  man! 
Thus  do  we  carry  our  lances — thus  is  a  war-belt 

slung. 
Ay,  it  is  even  as  we  are.     Glory  and  honour  to 

Ung!" 


QiotQ  of  Hng. 


Later  he  pictured  an  aurochs  —  later  he  pictured  a 

bear  — 
Pictured  the  sabre-tooth  tiger  dragging  a  man  to 

his  lair  — 
Pictured  the  mountainous  mammoth,  hairy,  ab- 

horrent, alone  — 
Out  of  the  love  that  he  bore  them,  scribing  them 

clearly  on  bone. 

Swift  came  the  tribe  to  behold  them,  peering  and 

pushing  and  still  — 
Men  of  the  berg-battered  beaches,   men  of  the 

boulder-hatched  hill, 
Hunters  and  fishers  and  trappers  —  presently  whis- 

pering low; 
"  Yea,  they  are  like  —  and  it  may  be  ....  But  how 

does  the  Picture-man  know  ? 

"  Ung  —  hath  he  slept  with  the  Aurochs  —  watched 

where  the  Mastodon  roam  ? 
Spoke  on  the  ice  with  the  Bow-head  —  followed 

the  Sabre-tooth  home  ? 
Nay  !     These  are  toys  of  his  fancy  !     If  he  have 

cheated  us  so, 
How  is  there  truth  in  his  image  —  the  man  that  he 

fashioned  of  snow  ?  " 


Qtorn  of  Hng.  115 


Wroth  was  that  maker  of  pictures  —  hotly  he  an- 

swered the  call: 
"Hunters  and  fishers  and  trappers,  children  and 

fools  are  ye  all  ! 
Look  at  the  beasts  when  ye  hunt  them!"    Swift 

from  the  tumult  he  broke, 
Ran  to  the  cave  of  his  father  and  told  him  the 

shame  that  they  spoke. 

And  the  father  of  Ung  gave  answer,  that  was  old 

and  wise  in  the  craft, 
Maker  of  pictures  aforetime,  he  leaned  on  his  lance 

and  laughed: 
"If  they  could  see  as  thou  seest  they  would  do 

what  thou  hast  done, 
And  each  man  would  make  him  a  picture,  and  — 

what  would  become  of  my  son  ? 

"There  would  be  no  pelts  of  the  reindeer,  flung 

down  at  thy  cave  for  a  gift, 
Nor  dole  of  the  oily  timber  that  strands  with  the 

Baltic  drift; 
No  store  of  well-drilled  needles,  nor  ouches  of 

amber  pale  ; 
No  new-cut  tongues  of  the  bison,  nor  meat  of  the 

stranded  whale. 


Stye  Store  0f  Hng. 


"  Thou  hast  not  toiled  at  the  fishing  when  the  sod- 

den trammels  freeze, 
Nor  worked  the  war-boats  outward,  through  the 

rush  of  the  rock-staked  seas, 
Yet  they  bring  thee  fish  and  plunder  —  full  meal 

and  an  easy  bed  — 
And  all  for  the  sake  of  thy  pictures."    And  Ung 

held  down  his  head. 

"  Thou  hast  not  stood  to  the  aurochs  when  the 

red  snow  reeks  of  the  fight; 
Men  have  no  time  at  the  houghing  to  count  his 

curls  aright: 
And  the  heart  of  the  hairy  mammoth  thou  sayest 

they  do  not  see, 
Yet  they  save  it  whole  from  the  beaches  and  broil 

the  best  for  thee. 

"And  now  do  they  press  to  thy  pictures,  with 

open  mouth  and  eye, 
And  a  little  gift  in  the  doorway,  and  the  praise  no 

gift  can  buy  : 
But  —  sure  they  have  doubted  thy  pictures,  and 

that  is  a  grievous  stain  — 
Son  that  can  see  so  clearly,  return  them  their  gifts 

again." 


jc  gtors  of  &ng.  117 


And  Ung  looked  down  at  his  deerskins — their 

broad  shell-tasselled  bands — 
And  Ung  drew  downward  his  mitten  and  looked 

at  his  naked  hands; 
And  he  gloved  himself  and  departed,  and  he  heard 

his  father,  behind: 
"  Son  that  can  see  so  clearly,  rejoice  that  thy  tribe 

is  blind!" 

Straight  on  that  glittering  ice-field,  by  the  caves  of 

the  lost  Dordogne, 
Ung,  a  maker  of  pictures,  fell  to  his  scribing  on 

bone — 
Even  to  mammoth  editions.     Gaily  he  whistled 

and  sung, 
Blessing  his  tribe  for  their  blindness.     Heed  ye  the 

Story  of  Ung! 


THE  THREE-DECKER. 

"  The  three-volume  novel  is  extinct." 

FULL  thirty  foot  she  towered  from  waterline  to 

rail. 
It  cost  a  watch  to  steer  her,  and  a  week  to  shorten 

sail; 
But,  spite  all  modern  notions,  I  found  her  first  and 

best— 
The  only  certain  packet  for  the  Islands  of  the 

Blest. 


Fair  held  our  breeze  behind  us — 'twas  warm  with 

lovers'  prayers: 
We'd  stolen  wills  for  ballast  and  a  crew  of  missing 

heirs  ; 
They  shipped  as  Able  Bastards  till  the  Wicked 

Nurse  confessed, 
And  they  worked  the  old  three-decker  to  the 

Islands  of  the  Blest. 

118 


119 


Carambas  and  serapts  we  waved  to  every  wind, 
We  smoked  good  Corpo  Bacco  when  our  sweet- 

hearts proved  unkind; 
With  maids  of  matchless  beauty  and  parentage 

unguessed 
We  also  took  our  manners  to  the  Islands  of  the 

Blest. 


We  asked  no  social  questions — we  pumped  no 

hidden  shame — 
We  never  talked  obstetrics  when  the  little  stranger 

came: 
We  left  the  Lord  in  Heaven,  we  left  the  fiends  in 

Hell. 
We  weren't  exactly  Yussufs,  but— Zuleika  didn't 

tell! 


No  moral  doubt  assailed  us,  so  when  the  port  we 

neared, 
The  villain  got  his  flogging  at  the  gangway,  and 

we  cheered. 
Twas  fiddles  in  the  foc'sle— 'twas  garlands  on  the 

mast, 
For  every  one  got  married,  and  I  went  ashore  at 

last. 


I  left  'em  all  in  couples  akissing  on  the  decks. 

I  left  the  lovers  loving  and  the  parents  signing 
checks. 

In  endless  English  comfort  by  county-folk  ca- 
ressed, 

I  left  the  old  three-decker  at  the  Islands  of  the 
Blest! 


That  route  is  barred  to  steamers :  you'll  never  lift 

again 
Our  purple-painted  headlands  or  the  lordly  keeps 

of  Spain. 
They're  just  beyond  the  skyline,  howe'er  so  far  you 

cruise 
In  a  ram-you-damn-you  liner  with  a  brace  of 

bucking  screws. 

Swing  round  your  aching  search-light — 'twill  show 
no  haven's  peace! 

Ay,  blow  your  shrieking  sirens  to  the  deaf,  gray- 
bearded  seas! 

Boom  out  the  dripping  oil-bags  to  skin  the  deep's 
unrest — 

But  you  aren't  a  knot  the  nearer  to  the  Islands 
of  the  Blest. 


121 


And  when  you're  threshing,  crippled,  with  broken 

bridge  and  rail, 
On  a  drogue  of  dead  convictions  to  hold  you  head 

to  gale, 
Calm  as  the  Flying  Dutchman,  from  truck  to  taff- 

rail  dressed, 
You'll  see  the  old  three-decker  for  the  Islands  of 

the  Blest. 

You'll  see  her  tiering  canvas  in  sheeted  silver 

spread ; 
You'll  hear  the   long-drawn   thunder  'neath   her 

leaping  figure-head; 
While  far,  so  far  above  you,  her  tall  poop-lanterns 

shine 
Unvexed  by  wind  or  weather  like  the  candles 

round  a  shrine. 

Hull  down — hull  down  and  under — she  dwindles 

to  a  speck, 
With  noise  of  pleasant  music  and  dancing  on  her 

deck. 
All's  well — all's  well  aboard  her — she's  dropped 

you  far  behind, 
With  a  scent  of  old-world  roses  through  the  fog 

that  ties  you  blind. 


Her  crew  are  babes  or  madmen  ?    Her  port  is  all 

to  make  ? 
You're  manned  by  Truth  and  Science,  and  you 

steam  for  steaming's  sake  ? 
Well,  tinker  up  your  engines — you  know  your 

business  best — 
She's  taking  tired  people  to  the  Islands  of  the 

Blest! 


AN  AMERICAN. 

The  American  Spirit  speaks: 

IF  the  Led  Striker  call  it  a  strike, 

Or  the  papers  call  it  a  war, 
They  know  not  much  what  I  am  like, 

Nor  what  he  is,  my  Avatar. 

Through  many  roads,  by  me  possessed, 
He  shambles  forth  in  cosmic  guise; 

He  is  the  Jester  and  the  Jest, 
And  he  the  Text  himself  applies. 

The  Celt  is  in  his  heart  and  hand, 
The  Gaul  is  in  his  brain  and  nerve; 

Where,  cosmopolitanly  planned, 
He  guards  the  Redskin's  dry  reserve. 

His  easy  unswept  hearth  he  lends 
From  Labrador  to  Guadeloupe ; 

Till,  elbowed  out  by  sloven  friends, 
He  camps,  at  sufferance,  on  the  stoop. 


124  2ln  American. 


Calm-eyed  he  scoffs  at  sword  and  crown, 
Or  panic-blinded  stabs  and  slays: 

Blatant  he  bids  the  world  bow  down, 
Or  cringing  begs  a  crumb  of  praise ; 

Or,  sombre-drunk,  at  mine  and  mart, 
He  dubs  his  dreary  brethren  Kings. 

His  hands  are  black  with  blood :  his  heart 
Leaps,  as  a  babe's,  at  little  things. 

But,  through  the  shift  of  mood  and  mood, 
Mine  ancient  humour  saves  him  whole — 

The  cynic  devil  in  his  blood 
That  bids  him  mock  his  hurrying  soul; 

That  bids  him  flout  the  Law  he  makes, 
That  bids  him  make  the  Law  he  flouts, 

Till,  dazed  by  many  doubts,  he  wakes 
The  drumming  guns  that — have  no  doubts; 

That  checks  him  foolish  hot  and  fond, 
That  chuckles  through  his  deepest  ire, 

That  gilds  the  slough  of  his  despond 
But  dims  the  goal  of  his  desire; 


Qln  American.  125 


Inopportune,  shrill-accented, 

The  acrid  Asiatic  mirth 
That  leaves  him  careless  'mid  his  dead, 

The  scandal  of  the  elder  earth. 


How  shall  he  clear  himself,  how  reach 
Our  bar  or  weighed  defence  prefer — 

A  brother  hedged  with  alien  speech 
And  lacking  all  interpreter  ? 

Which  knowledge  vexes  him  a  space; 

But  while  reproof  around  him  rings, 
He  turns  a  keen  untroubled  face 

Home,  to  the  instant  need  of  things. 

Enslaved,  illogical,  elate, 

He  greets  th'  embarrassed  Gods,  nor  fears 
To  shake  the  iron  hand  of  Fate 

Or  match  with  Destiny  for  beers. 

Lo!  imperturbable  he  rules, 
Unkempt,  disreputable,  vast — 

And,  in  the  teeth  of  all  the  schools 
I — I  shall  save  him  at  the  last ! 


THE  MARY  GLOSTER. 

I'VE  paid  for  your  sickest  fancies;  I've  humoured 

your  crackedest  whim — 
Dick,  it's  your  daddy — dying :  you've  got  to  listen 

to  him ! 
Good  for  a  fortnight,  am  I  ?    The  doctor  told  you  ? 

He  lied. 
I  shall  go  under  by  morning,  and Put  that 

nurse  outside. 
'Never  seen  death  yet,   Dickie  ?    Well,  now  is 

your  time  to  learn, 
And  you'll  wish  you  held  my  record   before  it 

comes  to  your  turn. 
Not  counting  the  Line  and  the  Foundry,  the  yards 

and  the  village,  too, 
I've  made  myself  and  a  million;  but  I'm  damned 

if  I  made  you. 
Master  at  two-and-twenty,  and  married  at  twenty 

three — 

126 


©loster.  127 


Ten  thousand  men  on    the  pay-roll,    and  forty 

freighters  at  sea  ! 
Fifty  years  between   'em,   and  every  year  of  it 

fight, 
And    now  I'm    Sir  Anthony   Gloster,   dying,   a 

baronite  : 
For  I  lunched  with  His  Royal  'Ighness  —  what  was 

it  the  papers  a-had  ? 
"Not  least  of  our  merchant-princes."     Dickie, 

that's  me,  your  dad! 
/  didn't  begin  with  askings.     /  took  my  job  and 

I  stuck  ; 
And  I  took  the  chances  they  wouldn't,  an'  now 

they're  calling  it  luck. 
Lord,  what  boats  I've  handled  —  rotten  and  leaky 

and  old! 
Ran  'em,  or  —  opened  the  bilge-cock,  precisely  as  I 

was  told. 
Grub  that  'ud  bind  you  crazy,  and  crews  that  'ud 

turn  you  gray, 
And  a  big  fat  lump  of  insurance  to  cover  the  risk 

on  the  way. 
The  others  they  duresn't  do  it;  they  said  they 

valued  their  life 
(They've  served  me  since  as  skippers).     /  went, 

and  I  took  my  wife. 


128  SI)*  ittars  ©ioster. 

Over  the  world  I  drove  'em,  married  at  twenty- 
three, 
And  your  mother  saving  the  money  and  making  a 

man  of  me. 
I  was  content  to  be  master,  but  she  said  there  was 

better  behind ; 
She  took  the  chances  1  wouldn't,  and  I  followed 

your  mother  blind. 
She  egged  me  to  borrow  the  money,  an'   she 

helped  me  clear  the  loan, 
When  we  bought  half  shares  in  a  cheap  'un  and 

hoisted  a  flag  of  our  own. 
Patching  and  coaling  on  credit,  and  living  the  Lord 

knew  how, 
We  started  the  Red  Ox  freighters — we've  eight- 

and-thirty  now. 
And  those  were  the  days  of  clippers,  and  the 

freights  were  clipper-freights, 
And  we  knew  we  were  making  our  fortune,  but 

she  died  in  Macassar  Straits — 
By  the  Little   Paternosters,   as  you  come  to  the 

Union  Bank — 
And  we  dropped  her  in  fourteen  fathom ;  I  pricked 

it  off  where  she  sank. 
Owners  we  were,  full  owners,  and  the  boat  was 

christened  for  her, 


ittarg  (Sioster.  129 


And  she  died  out  there  in  childbed.     My  heart, 

how  young  we  were  ! 
So  I  went  on  a  spree  round  Java  and  well-nigh  ran 

her  ashore, 
But  your  mother  came  and  warned  me  and  I 

wouldn't  liquor  no  more. 
Strict  I  stuck  to  my  business,  afraid  to  stop  or  I'd 

think, 
Saving  the  money  (she  warned  me),  and  letting 

the  other  men  drink. 
And  I  met  McCullough  in  London  (I'd  saved  five 

'undred  then), 
And  'tween    us  we  started  the  Foundry  —  three 

forges  and  twenty  men  : 
Cheap  repairs  for  the  cheap  'uns.     It  paid,  and  the 

business  grew, 
For  I  bought  me  a  steam-lathe  patent,  and  that 

was  a  gold  mine  too. 
"Cheaper  to  build  'em  than  buy  'em,"  /said,  but 

McCullough  he  shied, 
And  we  wasted  a  year  in  talking  before  we  moved 

to  the  Clyde. 
And  the  Lines  were  all  beginning,  and  we  all  of 

us  started  fair, 
Building  our  engines  like  houses  and  staying  the 

boilers  square. 


130  ®lje  iHarg  (Sioster. 

But  McCullough  'e  wanted  cabins  with  marble 

and  maple  and  all, 
And  Brussels  and  Utrecht  velvet,  and  baths  and  a 

Social  Hall, 
And  pipes  for  closets  all  over,  and  cutting  the 

frames  too  light. 
But  McCullough  he  died  in  the  Sixties,  and 

Well,  I'm  dying  to-night.  .  .  . 
I  knew — /  knew  what  was  coming,  when  we  bid 

on  the  Byfleet's  keel. 
They  piddled  and  piffled  with  iron :  I'd  given  my 

orders  for  steel. 
Steel  and  the  first  expansions.     It  paid,  I  tell  you, 

it  paid, 
When  we  came  with  our  nine-knot  freighters  and 

collared  the  long-run  trade. 
And  they  asked  me  how  I  did  it,  and  I  gave  'em 

the  Scripture  text, 
"  You  keep  your  light  so  shining  a  little  in  front  o' 

the  next!" 
They  copied  all  they  could  follow,  but  they  couldn't 

copy  my  mind, 
And  I  left  'em  sweating  and  stealing  a  year  and  a 

half  behind. 
Then  came  the  armour-contracts,  but  that  was 

McCullough'sside; 


ittars  (blaster.  131 


He  was  always  best  in  the  Foundry,  but  better, 

perhaps,  he  died. 
I  went  through  his  private  papers  ;  the  notes  was 

plainer  than  print; 
And  I'm  no  fool  to  finish  if  a  man'll  give  me  a 

hint. 
(I  remember  his  widow  was  angry.)     So  I  saw 

what  the  drawings  meant, 
And  I  started  the  six-inch  rollers,  and  it  paid  me 

sixty  per  cent. 
Sixty  per  cent  with  failures,  and  more  than  twice 

we  could  do, 
And  a  quarter-million  to  credit,  and  I  saved  it  all 

for  you. 
I  thought  —  it  doesn't  matter  —  you  seemed  to  fa- 

vour your  ma, 
But  you're  nearer  forty  than  thirty,  and  I  know  the 

kind  you  are. 
Harrer  an'  Trinity  College!     I  ought  to  ha'  sent 

you  to  sea  — 
But  I  stood  you  an  education,  an'  what  have  you 

done  for  me  ? 
The  things  I  knew  was  proper  you  wouldn't  thank 

me  to  give, 
And  the  things  I  knew  was  rotten  you  said  was 

the  way  to  live  ; 


132  Stye  iJlarg  <B>l00t*r. 

For  you  muddled  with  books  and  pictures,  an' 

china  an'  etchin's  an'  fans, 
And  your  rooms  at  college  was  beastly — more  like 

a  whore's  than  a  man's — 
Till  you  married   that   thin-flanked  woman,  as 

white  and  as  stale  as  a  bone, 
And  she  gave  you  your  social    nonsense;  .but 

where's  that  kid  o'  your  own  ? 
I've  seen  your  carriages  blocking  the  half  of  the 

Cromwell  Road, 
But  never  the   doctor's   brougham  to  help  the 

missus  unload. 
(So  there  isn't  even  a  grandchild,  an'  the  Gloster 

family's  done.) 
Not  like  your  mother,  she  isn't.     She  carried  her 

freight  each  run. 
But  they  died,  the  pore  little  beggars!     At  sea  she 

had  'em — they  died. 
Only  you,  an'  you  stood  it;  you  haven't  stood 

much  beside — 
Weak,  a  liar,  and  idle,  and  mean  as  a  collier's 

whelp 
Nosing  for  scraps  in  the  galley.     No  help — my  son 

was  no  help! 
So  he  gets  three  'undred  thousand,  in  trust  and 

the  interest  paid. 


blaster.  133 


I  wouldn't  give  it  you,  Dickie  —  you  see,  I  made  it 

in  trade. 
You're  saved  from  soiling  your  fingers,  and  if  you 

have  no  child, 
It  all  comes  back  to  the  business.     Gad,  won't 

your  wife  be  wild  ! 
Calls  and  calls  in  her  carriage,  her  'andkerchief  up 

to  'er  eye: 
"Daddy!    dear  daddy's  dyin'l"   and  doing  her 

best  to  cry. 
Grateful  ?    Oh,  yes,  I'm  grateful,  but  keep  'er  away 

from  here. 
Your  mother  'ud  never  ha'  stood  'er,  and,  anyhow, 

women  are  queer.  .  .  . 
There's  women  will  say  I've  married  a  second  time. 

Not  quite  ! 
But  give  pore  Aggie  a  hundred,  and  tell  her  your 

lawyers'll  fight. 
She  was  the  best  o'  the  boiling  —  you'll  meet  her 

before  it  ends; 
I'm  in  for  a  row  with  the  mother  —  I'll  leave  you 

settle  my  friends  : 
For  a  man  he  must  go  with  a  woman,  which 

women  don't  understand  — 
Or  the  sort  that  say  they  can  see  it  they  aren't  the 

marrying  brand. 


But  I  wanted  to  speak  o'  your  mother  that's  Lady 

Gloster  still. 

I'm  going  to  up  and  see  her,  without  it's  hurt- 
ing the  will. 
Here!   Take   your  hand  off  the  bell-pull.      Five 

thousand's  waiting  for  you, 
If  you'll  only  listen  a  minute,  and  do»as  I  bid 

you  do. 
They'll  try  to  prove  me  a  loony,  and,   if  you 

bungle,  they  can ; 
And  I've  only  you  to  trust  to!     (O  God,  why 

ain't  he  a  man  ?) 
There's  some  waste  money  on  marbles,  the  same 

as  McCullough  tried — 
Marbles  and  mausoleums — but  I  call  that  sinful 

pride. 
There's  some  ship  bodies  for  burial — we've  carried 

'em,  soldered  and  packed; 
Down  in  their  wills  they  wrote  it,  and  nobody 

called  them  cracked. 
But  me — I've  too  much  money,  and  people  might. 

...  All  my  fault: 
It  come  o'  hoping  for  grandsons  and  buying  that 

Wokin'  vault. 
I'm  sick  o'  the  'ole  dam'  business;  I'm  going  back 

where  I  came. 


iflarg  ©loster.  135 


Dick,  you're  the  son  o'  my  body,  and  you'll  take 

charge  o'  the  same! 
I'm  going  to  lie  by  your  mother,  ten  thousand  mile 

away, 
And  they'll  want  to  send  me  to  Woking;  and  that's 

where  you'll  earn  your  pay. 
I've  thought  it  out  on  the  quiet,  the  same  as  it 

ought  to  be  done  — 
Quiet,  and  decent,  and  proper  —  an'  here's  your 

orders,  my  son. 
You  know  the  Line  ?    You  don't,  though.     You 

write  to  the  Board,  and  tell 
Your  father's  death  has  upset  you  an'  you're  goin' 

to  cruise  for  a  spell, 
An'  you'd  like  the  Mary  Gloster  —  I've  held  her 

ready  for  this  — 
They'll  put  her  in  working  order  an*  you'll  take 

her  out  as  she  is. 
Yes,  it  was  money  idle  when  I  patched  her  and  put 

her  aside 
(Thank  God,  I  can  pay  for  my  fancies  !)  —  the  boat 

where  your  mother  died, 
By  the  Little  Paternosters,   as  you  come  to  the 

Union  Bank, 
We  dropped  her  —  I  think  I  told  you  —  and  I  pricked 

it  off  where  she  sank. 


136  ®fje  ittars  ©laster. 

[Tiny  she  looked  on  the  grating — that  oily,  treacly 

sea — ] 
Hundred  and  eighteen  East,  remember,  and  South 

just  three. 
Easy  bearings  to  carry — three  South — three  to  the 

dot; 
But  I  gave  McAndrews  a  copy  in  case  of  dying- — or 

not. 
And  so  you'll  write  to  McAndrews,  he's  Chief  of 

the  Maori  Line; 
They'll  give  him  leave,  if  you  ask  'em  and  say  it's 

business  o'  mine. 
I  built  three  boats  for  the  Maoris,  an'  very  well 

pleased  they  were, 
An'  I've  known  Mac  since  the  Fifties,  and  Mac  knew 

me — and  her. 
After  the  first  stroke  warned  me  I  sent  him  the 

money  to  keep 
Against  the  time  you'd  claim  it,  committin'  your 

dad  to  the  deep ; 
For  you  are  the  son  o'  my  body,  and  Mac  was  my 

oldest  friend, 
I've  never  asked  'im  to  dinner,  but  he'll  see  it  out 

to  the  end. 
Stiff-necked    Glasgow   beggar,    I've    heard    he's 

prayed  for  my  soul, 


Piaster.  137 


But  he  couldn't  lie  if  you  paid  him,  and  he'd  starve 

before  he  stole. 
He'll  take  the  Mary  in  ballast  —  you'll  find  her  a 

lively  ship; 
And  you'll  take  Sir  Anthony  Gloster,  that  goes  on 

his  wedding-trip, 
Lashed  in  our  old  deck-cabin  with  all  three  port- 

holes wide, 
The  kick  o'  the  screw  beneath  him  and  the  round 

blue  seas  outside! 
Sir  Anthony  Gloster's  carriage  —  our  'ouse-flag  fly- 

in'  free  — 
Ten   thousand    men    on    the  pay-roll  and  forty 

freighters  at  sea  ! 
He  made  himself  and  a  million,  but  this  world  is 

a  fleetin'  show, 
And  he'll  go  to  the  wife  of  'is  bosom  the  same  as 

he  ought  to  go. 
By  the  heel  of  the  Paternosters  —  there  isn't  a  chance 

to  mistake  — 
And  Mac'll  pay  you  the  money  as  soon  as  the  bub- 

bles break  ! 
Five  thousand  for  six  weeks'  cruising,  the  stanch- 

est  freighter  afloat, 
And  Mac  he'll  give  you  your  bonus  the  minute  I'm 

out  o'  the  boat! 


138  ®l)e  illarj!  (Sloster. 

He'll  take  you  round  to  Macassar,  and  you'll  come 

back  alone ; 
He  knows  what  I  want  o'  the  Mary.  .  .  .  I'll  do 

what  I  please  with  my  own. 
Your  mother  'ud  call  it  wasteful,  but  I've  seven- 

and-thirty  more; 
I'll  come  in  my  private  carriage  and  bid  it  wait  at 

the  door.  .  .  . 
For  my  son  'e  was  never  a  credit:  'e  muddled 

with  books  and  art, 
And  'e  lived  on  Sir  Anthony's  money  and  'e  broke 

Sir  Anthony's  heart. 
There  isn't  even  a  grandchild,  and  the  Gloster 

family's  done — 
The  only  one  you  left  me,  O  mother,  the  only 

one! 
Harrer  an'  Trinity  College!     Me  slavin'  early  an' 

late, 

An"  he  thinks  I'm  dyin'  crazy,  and  you're  in  Ma- 
cassar Strait! 
Flesh  o'  my  flesh,  my  dearie,  for  ever  an"' ever 

amen, 
That  first  stroke  come  for  a  warning;  I  ought  to 

ha'  gone  to  you  then, 
But — cheap  repairs  for  a  cheap  'un — the  doctors 

said  I'd  do: 


(Booster.  139 


Mary,  why  didn'tyou  warn  me  ?    I've  allus  heeded 

to  you, 
Excep'  —  I  know  —  about  women;  but  you  are  a 

spirit  now; 
An',  wife,  they  was  only  women,  and  I  was  a  man. 

That's  how. 
An'  a  man  'e  must  go  with  a  woman,  as  you  could 

not  understand  ; 
But  I  never  talked  'em  secrets.     I  paid  'em  out  o' 

hand. 
Thank  Gawd,  I  can  pay  for  my  fancies!     Now 

what's  five  thousand  to  me, 
For  a  berth  off  the  Paternosters  in  the  haven  where 

I  would  be  ? 
/  believe  in  the  Resurrection,  if  I  read  my  Bible 

plain, 
But  I  wouldn't  trust  'em  at  Wokin';  we're  safer  at 

sea  again. 
For  the  heart  it  shall  go  with  the  treasure  —  go 

down  to  the  sea  in  ships. 
I'm  sick  of  the  hired  women  —  I'll  kiss  my  girl  on 

her  lips  ! 
I'll  be  content  with  my  fountain,  I'll  drink  from  my 

own  well, 
And  the  wife  of  my  youth  shall  charm  me  —  an'  the 

rest  can  go  to  Hell! 


140  ®l)£  ittarjj  (EHoster. 

(Dickie,  he  will,  that's  certain.)     I'll  lie  in  our 

standin'-bed, 
An'  Mac'll  take  her  in  ballast — and  she  trims  best 

by  the  head.  .  .  . 
Down  by  the  head  an'  sinkin'.    Her  fires  are  drawn 

and  cold, 
And  the  water's  splashin'  hollow  on  the  skin  of 

the  empty  hold — 
Churning  an'  choking  and  chuckling,  quiet  and 

scummy  and  dark — 
Full    to    her  lower    hatches    and    risin'    steady. 

Hark! 
That  was  the  after-bulkhead.  .  .  .  she's  flooded 

from  stem  to  stern.  .  .  . 
Never  seen  death  yet,  Dickie  ?  .  .  .  Well,  now  is 

your  time  to  learn! 


SESTINA  OF  THE  TRAMP-ROYAL. 

SPEAKIN'  in  general,  I  'ave  tried  'em  all, 
The  'appy  roads  that  take  you  o'er  the  world. 
Speakin'  in  general,  I  'ave  found  them  good 
For  such  as  cannot  use  one  bed  too  long, 
But  must  get  'ence,  the  same  as  I  'ave  done, 
An'  go  observin'  matters  till  they  die. 

What  do  it  matter  where  or  'ow  we  die, 

So  long  as  we've  our  'ealth  to  watch  it  all — 

The  different  ways  that  different  things  are  done, 

An'  men  an'  women  lovin*  in  this  world — 

Takin'  our  chances  as  they  come  along, 

An'  when  they  ain't,  pretendin'  they  are  good  ? 

In  cash  or  credit — no,  it  ain't  no  good ; 

You  'ave  to  'ave  the  'abit  or  you'd  die, 

Unless  you  lived  your  life  but  one  day  long, 

Nor  didn't  prophesy  nor  fret  at  all, 

But  drew  your  tucker  some'ow  from  the  world, 

An'  never  bothered  what  you  might  ha'  done. 


142          Seslina  0f 


But,  Gawd,  what  things  are  they  I  'aven't  done  ? 
I've  turned  my  'and  to  most,  an'  turned  it  good, 
In  various  situations  round  the  world  — 
For  'im  that  doth  not  work  must  surely  die; 
But  that's  no  reason  man  should  labour  all 
'Is  life  on  one  same  shift;  life's  none  so  long. 

Therfore,  from  job  to  job  I've  moved  along. 

Pay  couldn't  'old  me  when  my  time  was  done, 

For  something  in  my  'ead  upset  me  all, 

Till  I  'ad  dropped  whatever  'twas  for  good, 

An',  out  at  sea,  be'eld  the  dock-lights  die, 

An'  met  my  mate  —  the  wind  that  tramps  the  world. 

It's  like  a  book,  I  think,  this  bloomin'  world, 
Which  you  can  read  and  care  for  just  so  long, 
But  presently  you  feel  that  you  will  die 
Unless  you  get  the  page  you're  readin'  done, 
An'  turn  another  —  likely  not  so  good  ; 
But  what  you're  after  is  to  turn  'em  all. 

Gawd  bless  this  world  !   Whatever  she  'ath  done— 
Excep'  when  awful  long  —  I've  found  it  good. 
So  write,  before  I  die,  "  'E  liked  it  all!  " 


BARRACK-ROOM    BALLADS. 


143 


When  'Omer  smote  'is  bloomin'  lyre, 
He'd  'card  men  sing  by  land  an'  sea; 

An'  what  he  thought  'e  might  require, 
'E  went  an'  took — the  same  as  me  ! 

The  market-girls  an'  fishermen, 
The  shepherds  an'  the  sailors,  too, 

They  'eard  old  songs  turn  up  again, 
But  hep'  it  quiet — same  as  you  I 

They  knew  'e  stole;  'e  knew  they  knowed. 
They  didn't  tell,  nor  make  a  fuss, 

But  winked  at  'Omer  down  the  road, 
An'  'e  winked  back — the  same  as  us  ! 


"BACK  TO  THE  ARMY  AGAIN." 

I'M  'ere  in  a  ticky  ulster  an'  a  broken  billycock  'at, 
A-layin'  on  to  the  sergeant  I  don't  know  a  gun 

from  a  bat ; 
My  shirt's  doin'  duty  for  jacket,  my  sock's  stickin' 

out  o'  my  boots, 
An'  I'm  learnin1  the  damned  old  goose-step  along 

o'  the  new  recruits ! 

Back  to  the  Army  again,  sergeant, 

Back  to  the  Army  again. 
Don't  look  so  'ard,  for  I  'aven't  no  card, 

I'm  back  to  the  Army  again ! 

I  done  my  six  years'  service.     'Er  Majesty  sez: 

"Good  day — 
You'll  please  to  come  when  you're  rung  for,  an' 

'ere's  your  'ole  back  pay ; 
An'  four-pence  a  day  for  baccy — an'  bloomin*  gen- 

'rous,  too; 
An'  now  you  can  make  your  fortune — the  same  as 

your  orfcers  do." 

145 


146  Bock  to  tljc  Qtrms  again. 

Back  to  the  Army  again,  sergeant, 

Back  to  the  Army  again ; 
'Ow  did  I  learn  to  do  right-about  turn  ? 

I'm  back  to  the  army  again! 

A  man  o'  four-an'-twenty  that  'asn't  learned  of  a 

trade — 
Beside  "Reserve"  agin'  him — 'e'd  better  be  never 

made. 
I  tried  my  luck  for  a  quarter,  an'  that  was  enough 

for  me, 
An'  I  thought   of  'Er   Majesty's   barricks,  an'   I 

thought  I'd  go  an'  see. 

Back  to  the  Army  again,  sergeant, 

Back  to  the  Army  again  ; 
Tisn't  my  fault  if  I  dress  when  I  'alt — 

I'm  back  to  the  Army  again! 

The  sergeant  arst  no  questions,  but  'e  winked  the 

other  eye, 
E' sez  to  me,  '"Shun!"  an'  I  shunted,  the  same 

as  in  days  gone  by ; 
For  'e  saw  the  set  o'  my  shoulders,  an'  I  couldn't 

'elp  'oldin'  straight 
When  me  an'  the  other  rookies  come  under  the 

barrick  gate. 


Back  to  tlje  &rntB  again.  147 

Back  to  the  Army  again,  sergeant, 

Back  to  the  Army  again ; 
'Oo  would  ha'  thought  I  could  carry  an'  port  ? 

I'm  back  to  the  Army  again  1 

I   took  my  bath,   an'    I    wallered — for.   Gawd,  I 

needed  it  so ! 
I  smelt  the  smell  o'  the  barricks,  I  'card  the  bugles 

go- 
I  'card  the  feet  on  the  gravel — the  feet  o'  the  men 

what  drill — 
An'  I  sez  to  my  flutterin'  'eart-strings,  I  sez  to  'em, 

"Peace,  be  still!" 

Back  to  the  Army  again,  sergeant, 

Back  to  the  Army  again ; 
'Oo  said  I  knew  when  the  Jumner  was  due  ? 

I'm  back  to  the  Army  again! 

I   carried  my  slops  to  the  tailor;   I  sez  to  'im, 

"None  o'  your  lip! 
You  tight  'em  over  the  shoulders,  an'  loose  'em 

over  the  'ip, 
For  the  set  o'  the  tunic's  'orrid."  An'  'e  sez  to  me, 

"Strike  me  dead, 
But  I  thought  you  was  used  to  the  business ! "  an' 

so  'e  done  what  I  said. 


148  Back  to  tlje  QlrmB  again. 

Back  to  the  Army  again,  sergeant, 

Back  to  the  Army  again. 
Rather  too  free  with  my  fancies  ?    Wot — me  ? 

I'm  back  to  the  Army  again! 

Next  week  I'll  'ave  'em  fitted;  I'll  buy  me  a  walk- 
in'  cane; 

They'll  let  me  free  o'  the  barricks  to  walk  on  the 
Hoe  again 

In  the  name  o'  William  Parsons,  that  used  to  be 
Edward  Clay, 

An' — any  pore  beggar  that  wants  it  can  draw  my 
fourpence  a  day! 

Back  to  the  Army  again,  sergeant, 

Back  to  the  Army  again : 
Out  o'  the  cold  an'  the  rain,  sergeant, 

Out  o'  the  cold  an'  the  rain. 

'Oo's  there  ? 
A  man  that's  too  good  to  be  lost  you, 

A  man  that  is  'andled  an'  made — 
A  man  that  will  pay  what  'e  cost  you 

In  learnin'  the  others  their  trade — parade ! 
You're  droppin'  the  pick  o'  the  Army 

Because  you  don't  'elp  'em  remain, 
But  drives  'em  to  cheat  to  get  out  o'  the  street 

An'  back  to  the  Army  again ! 


"BIRDS  OF  PREY"  MARCH. 

MARCH!     The  mud   is   cakin'  good   about   our 

trousies. 
Front! — eyes  front,  an'  watch  the  Colour-casin's 

drip. 

Front!     The  faces  of  the  women  in  the  'ouses 
Ain't  the  kind  o'  things  to  take  aboard  the  ship. 

Cheer  !  An'  "we'll  never  march  to  victory. 
Cheer!  An'  we'll  never  live  to  'ear  the  cannon 
roar  ! 

The  Large  Birds  o'  Prey 

They  will  carry  us  away, 
An'  you'll  never  see  your  soldiers  any  more  ! 

Wheel!    Oh,  keep  your  touch;  we're  goin'  round 

a  corner. 

Time! — mark  time,  an'  let  the  men  be'ind  us 
close. 

149 


150  **  Birfcs  o 


Lord!  the  transport's  full,  an"  'alf  our  lot  not  on 

'er  — 

Cheer,  O  cheer!    We're  going   off  where  no 
one  knows. 

March!      The   Devil's   none    so   black  as   'e   is 

painted  ! 
Cheer!    We'll  'ave  some  fun  before  we're  put 

away. 
'Alt,    an'    'and    'er  out  —  a  woman's    gone   and 

fainted  ! 

Cheer!     Get  on  —  Gawd  'elp  the  married  men 
to-day  ! 

Hoi  !    Come  up,  you  'ungry  beggars,  to  yer  sor- 

row. 
('Ear  them  say  they  want  their  tea,  an'  want  it 

quick!) 
You  won't  have  no  mind  for  slingers,  not  to-mor- 

row — 

No;  you'll  put  the  'tween-decks  stove  out,  bein' 
sick! 

'Alt!    The  married  kit  'as  all  to  go  before  us! 
'Course  it's  blocked  the  bloomin'  gangway  up 
again  ! 


Birbs  of 


Cheer,  O  cheer  the  'Orse  Guards  watchin'  tender 

o'er  us, 
Keepin'  us  since  eight  this  mornin'  in  the  rain! 

Stuck  in  'eavy  marchin'-order,  sopped  and  wring- 

in'  — 

Sick,  before  our  time  to  watch  'er  'eave  an'  fall, 
'Ere's  your  'appy  'ome  at  last,  an'  stop  your  sing- 

in'. 
'Alt  !    Fall  in  along  the  troop-deck  !    Silence  all  ! 

Cheer!    For  we'll  never  live  to  see  no  bloom- 

in'  victory! 

Cheer!  An'  we'll  never  live  to'  ear  the  cannon 
roar!    (One  cheer  more!) 
The  jackal  an'  the  kite 
'Ave  an  'ealthy  appetite, 

An'  you'll  never  see  your  soldiers  any  more  ! 
(Ip!  Urroar!) 

The  eagle  an'  the  crow 
They  are  waitin'  ever  so, 

An'  you'll  never   see  your  soldiers  any  more  ! 
(Ipl  Urroar!) 

Yes,  the  Large  Birds  o'  Prey 
They  will  carry  us  away, 
An  you'll  never  see  your  soldiers  any  more  ! 


"SOLDIER  AN'  SAILOR  TOO." 

As  I  was  spittin'  into  the  Ditch  aboard  o'  the  Croc- 
odile, 
I  seed  a  man  on  a  man-o'-war  got  up   in   the 

Reg'lars*  style. 
'E  was  scrapin'  the  paint  from  off  of  'er  plates,  an' 

I  sez  to  'im,   "  'Oo  are  you  ?" 
Sez  'e,   "I'm  a  Jolly — 'Er  Majesty's  Jolly — soldier 

an'  sailor  too !  " 
Now  'is  work  begins  at  Gawd  knows  when,  and 

'is  work  is  never  through ; 
'E  isn't  one  o'  the  reg'lar  Line,  nor  'e  isn't  one  of 

the  crew. 
'E's  a  kind  of  a  giddy  harumfrodite — soldier  an' 

sailor  too ! 


An'  after  I  met  'im  all  over  the  world,  a-doin'  all 

kinds  of  things, 
Like  landin'  'isself  with  a  Gatlin'  gun  to  talk  to 

them  'eathen  kings; 


"SolMer  an'  Sailor  loo."  153 

'E  sleeps  in  an  'ammick  instead  of  a  cot,  an'  'e 
drills  with  the  deck  on  a  slew, 

An'  'e  sweats  like  a  Jolly — 'Er  Majesty's  Jolly — sol- 
dier an'  sailor  too! 

For  there  isn't  a  job  on  the  top  o'  the  earth  the 
beggar  don't  know,  nor  do. 

You  can  leave  'im  at  night  on  a  bald  man's  'ead, 
to  paddle  'is  own  canoe ; 

'E's  a  sort  of  a  bloomin'  cosmopolouse — soldier  an' 
sailor  too. 


We've  fought  'em  on  trooper,  we've  fought  'em 
in  dock,  an'  drunk  with  'em  in  betweens, 

When  they  called  us  the  seasick  scull'ry  maids, 
an'  we  called  'em  the  Ass  Marines; 

But,  when  we  was  down  for  a  double  fatigue,  from 
Woolwich  to  Bernardmyo, 

We  sent  for  the  Jollies — 'Er  Majesty's  Jollies — sol- 
dier an'  sailor  too ! 

They  think  for  'emselves,  an'  they  steal  for  'em- 
selves,  and  they  never  ask  what's  to  do, 

But  they're  camped  an'  fed  an'  they're  up  an'  fed 
before  our  bugle's  blew. 

Ho!  they  ain't  no  limpin'  procrastitutes — soldier 
an'  sailor  too. 


i54  "  SolMer  an'  Sailor  too." 

You  may  say  we  are  fond  of  an  'arness-cut,  or 

'ootin'  in  barrick-yards, 
Or  startin'  a  Board  School  mutiny  along  o'  the 

Onion  Guards; 
But  once  in  a  while  we  can  finish  in  style  for  the 

ends  of  the  earth  to  view, 

The  same  as  the  Jollies — 'er  Majesty's  Jollies — sol- 
dier an*  sailor  too ! 
They  come  of  our  lot,  they  was  brothers  to  us; 

they  was  beggars  we'd  met  an'  knew; 
Yes,  barrin'  an  inch  in  the  chest  an'  the  arms,  they 

was  doubles  o'  me  an'  you ; 
For  they  weren't  no  special  chrysanthemums — 

soldier  an'  sailor  too ! 


To  take  your  chance  in  the  thick  of  a  rush,  with 

firing  all  about, 
Is  nothing  so  bad  when  you've  cover  to  'and,  an' 

leave  an'  likin'  to  shout; 
But  to  stand  an'  be  still  to  the  Birken'ead  drill  is  a 

damn  tough  bullet  to  chew, 
An'  they  done  it,  the  Jollies — 'Er  Majesty's  Jollies 

— soldier  an'  sailor  too ! 
Their  work  was  done  when  it  'adn't  begun ;  they 

was  younger  nor  me  an'  you; 


"  SolMer  an'  Sailor  too."  155 

Their  choice  it  was  plain  between  drownin'  in 
'eaps  an'  bein'  mashed  by  the  screw, 

So  they  stood  an'  was  still  to  the  Birken'cad  drill, 
soldier  an'  sailor  too ! 


We're  most  of  us  liars,  we're  'arf  of  us  thieves,  an' 

the  rest  are  as  rank  as  can  be, 
But  once  in  a  while  we  can  finish  in  style  (which 

I  'ope  it  won't  'appen  to  me). 
But  it  makes  you  think  better  o'  you  an'  your 

friends,  an'  the  work  you  may  'ave  to  do, 
When  you  think  o'  the  sinkin'  Victorier's  Jollies — 

soldier  an'  sailor  too ! 
Now  there  isn't  no  room   for  to  say  ye  don't 

know — they  'ave  proved  it  plain  and  true — 
That  whether  it's  Widow,  or  whether  it's  ship, 

Victorier's  work  is  to  do, 
An'  they  done  it,  the  Jollies — 'Er  Majesty's  Jollies — 

soldier  an'  sailor  too ! 


SAPPERS. 

WHEN  the  Waters  were  dried  an'  the  Earth  did  ap- 
pear 
("  It's  all  one,"  says  the  Sapper), 

The  Lord  He  created  the  Engineer, 
Her  Majesty's  Royal  Engineer, 
With  the  rank  and  pay  of  a  Sapper ! 

When  the  Flood  come  along  for  an  extra  mon- 
soon, 

'Twas  Noah  constructed  the  first  pontoon 
To  the  plans  of  Her  Majesty's,  etc. 

But  after  "fatigue"  in  the  wet  an'  the  sun, 
Old  Noah  got  drunk,  which  he  wouldn't  ha'  done 
If  he'd  trained  with,  etc. 

When  the  Tower  o'  Babel  had  mixed  up  men's 

bat, 

Some  clever  civilian  was  managing  that, 
An'  none  of,  etc. 

156 


157 


When  the  Jews  had  a  fight  at  the  foot  of  an  'ill, 
Young  Joshua  ordered  the  sun  to  stand  still, 
For  he  was  a  Captain  of  Engineers,  etc. 

When  the  Children  of  Israel  made  bricks  without 

straw, 

They  were  learnin1  the  regular  work  of  our  Corps, 
The  work  of,  etc. 

For  ever  since  then,  if  a  war  they  would  wage, 
Behold  us  a-shinin"  on  history's  page — 
First  page  for,  etc. 

We  lay  down  their  sidings  an'  help  'em  entrain, 
An'  we  sweep  up  their  mess  through  the  bloomin' 

campaign, 
In  the  style  of,  etc. 

They  send  us  in  front  with  a  fuse  an'  a  mine 

To  blow  up    the  gates   that  are  rushed  by  the 

Line, 
But  bent  by,  etc. 

They  send  us  behind  with  a  pick  an'  a  spade, 
To  dig  for  the  guns  of  a  bullock-brigade 
Which  has  asked  for,  etc. 


i58  Sappers. 

We  work  under  escort  in  trousies  an'  shirt, 
An'  the  heathen  they  plug  us  tail-up  in  the  dirt, 
Annoying,  etc. 

We  blast  out  the  rock  an'  we  shovel  the  mud, 
We  make  'em  good  roads  an' — they  roll  down  the 

hhud, 
Reporting,  etc. 

We  make  'em  their  bridges,  their  wells,  an'  their 

huts, 

An'  the  telegraph-wire  the  enemy  cuts, 
An'  it's  blamed  on,  etc. 

An'  when  we   return  an'   from   war  we  would 

cease, 

They  grudge  us  adornin'  the  billets  of  peace, 
Which  are  kept  for,  etc. 

We  build  'em    nice  barricks — they  swear  they 

are  bad, 
That   our   Colonels    are    Methodist,    married    or 

mad, 
Insultin',  etc. 


Sappers.  159 


They  haven't  no  manners  nor  gratitude  too, 

For  the  more  that  we  help  'em  the  less  will  they 

do, 
But  mock  at,  etc. 

Now  the  Line's   but  a  man  with  a  gun   in   his 

hand, 

An'  Cavalry's  only  what  horses  can  stand, 
When  helped  by,  etc. 

Artillery  moves  by  the  leave  o'  the  ground, 
But  we  are  the  men  that  do  something  all  round, 
For  we  are,  etc. 


I  have  stated  it  plain,  an'  my  argument's  thus, 

("  It's  all  one,"  says  the  Sapper), 
There's  only  one  Corps  which  is  perfect — that's 
us; 

An'  they  call  us  Her  Majesty's  Engineers, 

Her  Majesty's  Royal  Engineers, 

With  the  rank  and  pay  of  a  Sapper! 


THAT  DAY. 

IT   got    beyond    all    orders    an'   it  got   beyond 

all  'ope; 
It  got  to  shammin'  wounded  an'  retirin'  from 

the  'alt. 
'Ole  companies  was  lookin'  for  the  nearest  road  to 

slope ; 

It  were  just  a  bloomin'   knock-out — an'   our 
fault! 


Now  there  ain't  no  chorus  'ere  to  give, 

Nor  there  ain't  no  band  to  play  ; 
An'  I  wish  I  was  dead  'fore  I  done  what  I  did 

Or  seen  what  I  seed  that  day  ! 

We  was  sick  o'  bein'  punished,  an'  we  let  'em 

know  it,  too ; 

An'  a  company-commander  up  an'  'it  us  with  a 
sword, 


161 


An'  some  one  shouted  "  'Ook  it!  "  an'  it  come  to 

sove-ki-poo, 

An'  we    chucked  our  rifles  from  us — oh,   my 
Gawd! 

There  was  thirty  dead  an'  wounded  on  the  ground 

we  wouldn't  keep — 
No,  there  wasn't  more  than  twenty  when  the 

front  begun  to  go ; 
But,  Christ!  along  the  line  o'  flight  they  cut  us  up 

like  sheep, 
An'  that  was  all  we  gained  by  doin'  so. 

I  'card  the  knives  be'ind  me,  but  I  dursn't  face  my 

man, 
An'    I  don't  know  where  I  went  to,  'cause  I 

didn't  'alt  to  see, 
Till  I  'card  a  beggar  squealin'  out  for  quarter  as  'e 

ran, 
An'  I  thought  I  knew  the  voice  an' — it  was  me! 

We  was  'idin'  under  bedsteads  more  than  'arf  a 

march  away; 

We  was  lyin'  up  like  rabbits  all  about  the  coun- 
try side; 


162  ®|)at  SDag. 


An'  the  major  cursed  'is  Maker  'cause  'e  lived  to 

see  that  day, 

An'   the    colonel   broke  'is   sword  acrost,  an' 
cried. 

We  was  rotten  'fore  we  started — we  was  never 

disciplined; 
We  made  it   out  a  favour  if  an    order  was 

obeyed ; 
Yes,  every  little  drummer  'ad  'is  rights  an'  wrongs 

to  mind, 
So  we  had  to  pay  for  teachin' — an'  we  paid! 

The  papers  'id  it  'andsome,  but  you  know  the 

Army  knows; 

We  was  put  to  groomin'  camels  till  the  regi- 
ments withdrew, 

An'  they  give  us  each  a  medal  for  subduin'  Eng- 
land's foes, 
An'  I  'ope  you  like  my  song — because  it's  true! 

An'  there  ain't  no  chorus  'ere  to  give, 

Nor  there  ain't  no  band  to  play  ; 
But  I  wish  I  was  dead  'fore  I  done  what  I  did 

Or  seen  what  I  seed  that  day  ! 


"THE   MEN  THAT  FOUGHT  AT  MINDEN." 

A  SONG  OF   INSTRUCTION. 

THE  men  that  fought  at  Minden,  they  was  rookies 

in  their  time — 

So  was  them  that  fought  at  Waterloo ! 
All  the  'ole  command,  yuss,  from  Minden  to  Mai- 
wand, 
They  was  once  dam'  sweeps  like  you ! 

Then  do  not  be  discouraged,  'Eaven  is  your 

'elper, 

We'll  learn  you  not  to  forget; 
An'  you  mustn't  swear  an'  curse,  or  you'll  only 

catch  it  worse, 
For  we'll  make  you  soldiers  yet. 

The  men  that  fought  at  Minden,  they  'ad  stocks 

beneath  their  chins, 
Six  inch  'igh  an'  more; 


1 64      ®Ije  itten  Ifyat  fimgl)!  at  Minben. 

But  fatigue  it  was  their  pride,  and  they  would  not 

be  denied 
To  clean  the  cook-'ouse  floor. 


The  men  that  fought  at  Minden,  they  'ad  anarch- 
istic bombs 

Served  to  'em  by  name  of  'and-grenades ; 
But  they  got  it  in  the  eye  (same  as  you  will  by 

an'  by) 
When  they  clubbed  their  field-parades. 


The  men  that  fought  at  Minden,  they  'ad  buttons 

up  an'  down, 

Two-an'-twenty  dozen  of  'em  told ; 
But  they  didn't  grouse  an'  shirk  at  an  hour's  extry 

work, 
They  kept  'em  bright  as  gold. 


The  men  that  fought  at  Minden,  they  was  armed 

with  musketoons, 

Also,  they  was  drilled  by  'alberdiers ; 
I  don't  know  what  they  were,  but  the  sergeants 

took  good  care 
They  washed  be'ind  their  ears. 


(Elje  Men  tljat  fon^t  at  ittinben.      165 

The  men  that  fought  at  Minden,  they  'ad  ever  cash 

in  'and 

Which  they  did  not  bank  nor  save, 
But  spent  it  gay  an'  free  on  their  betters — such  as 

me — 
For  the  good  advice  I  gave. 

The  men  that  fought  at  Minden,  they  was  civil 

— yuss,  they  was — 
Never  didn't  talk  o'  rights  an'  wrongs, 
But  they  got  it  with  the  toe  (same  as  you  will  get 

it— so  !)— 
For  interrupting  songs. 

The  men  that  fought  at  Minden,  they  was  several 

other  things 

Which  I  don't  remember  clear; 
But  that's  the  reason  why,  now  the  six-year  men 

are  dry, 
The  rooks  will  stand  the  beerl 

Then  do  not  be  discouraged,  'Eaven  is  your 

'elper, 

We'll  learn  you  not  to  forget ; 
An'  you  mustn't  swear  an'  curse,  or  you'll  only 

catch  it  worse, 
And  we'll  make  you  soldiers  yet. 


1 66      (Jl)c  Men  lljot  fiutjgljt  at  JRinten. 

Soldiers  yet,  if  you've  got  it  in  you — 

All  for  the  sake  o'  the  Core  ; 
Soldiers  yet,  if  we  'ave  to  skin  you — 

Run  an'  get  the  beer,  Johnny  Raw — -Johnny 
Raw! 

Ho  !  run  an'  get  the  beer,  Johnny  Raw  I 


CHOLERA  CAMP. 

WE'VE  got  the  cholerer  in  camp — it's  worse  than 

forty  fights ; 
We're  dyin'  in  the  wilderness  the  same  as  Isru- 

lites! 
It's  before  us,  an'  be'ind  us,  an'  we  cannot  get 

away, 
An'  the  doctor's  just  reported  we've  ten   more 

to-day ! 


Oh,  strike  your  camp  an'  go,  the  bugle's  callin', 

The  Rains  arefalliri — 
The  dead  are  bushed  an'  stoned  to  keep  'em  safe 

below  ; 

The  Band's  a-doin'  all  she  knows  to  cheer  us  ; 
The  chaplain's  gone  and  prayed  to  Gawd  to 

'ear  us — 
To  'ear  us — 
O  Lord,  for  it's  a-hilling  of  us  so  J 


168  (STljolero  Camp. 


Since  August,  when  it  started,  it's  been  sticking  to 

our  tail, 
Tho'  they've  'ad  us  out  by  marches  an'  they've 

'ad  us  back  by  rail ; 
But  it  runs  as  fast  as  troop-trains,  an'  we  can  not 

get  away; 
An'  the  sick-list  to  the  Colonel  makes  ten  more 

to-day. 

There  ain't  no  fun  in  women  nor  there  ain't  no  bite 

to  drink; 
It's  much  too  wet  for  shootin',  we  can  only  march 

and  think; 
An'  at  evenin',  down  the  nullahs,  we  can  'ear 

the  jackals  say, 
"Get  up,  you  rotten  beggars,  you've  ten  more 

to-day!  " 

'Twould  make  a  monkey  cough  to  see  our  way 

o'  doin'  things — 
Lieutenants  takin'  companies  an'  captains  takin' 

wings, 

An'  Lances  actin'  Sergeants — eight  file  to  obey — 
For   we've    lot's    o'   quick    promotion    on    ten 

deaths  a  day ! 


Camp.  169 


Our  Colonel's  white  an'  twitterly — 'e  gets  no  sleep 

nor  food, 
But  mucks  about  in  'orspital  where  nothing  does 

no  good. 
'E  sends  us  'caps  o'  comforts,  all  bought  from  'is 

pay- 
But  there  aren't  much  comfort  'andy  on  ten  deaths 

a  day. 

Our  Chaplain's  got  a  banjo,  an'  a  skinny  mule  'e 

rides, 
An'  the  stuff  'e  says  an'  sings  us,  Lord,  it  makes 

us  split  our  sides ! 
With  'is  black  coat-tails  a-bobbin'  to    Ta-ra-ra 

Boom-der-ay  ! 
'E's  the  proper  kind  o'  padre  for  ten  deaths  a 

day. 

An'  Father  Victor  'elps  'im  with  our  Roman  Catho- 

licks— 
He  knows  an  'cap  of  Irish  songs  an'  rummy  con- 

jurin'  tricks; 
An'  the  two  they  works  together  when  it  comes 

to  play  or  pray ; 
So  we  keep  the  ball  a-rollin'  on  ten  deaths  a 

day. 


We've  got  the  cholerer  in  camp — we've  got  it  'ot 

an'  sweet; 
It  ain't  no  Christmas  dinner,  but  it's  'elped  an'  we 

must  eat. 
We've  gone  beyond  the  funkin',  'cause  we've  found 

it  doesn't  pay, 
An'  we're  rockin'  round  the  Districk  on  ten  deaths 

a  day! 

Then  strike  your  camp  an'  go,  the  Rains  are 

falliri, 

The  bugle's  calliri! 
The  dead  are  bushed  an'  stoned  to  keep  'em  safe 

below  ! 

An'  them  that  do  not  like  it  they  can  lump  it, 
An'  them  that  can  not  stand  it  they  can  jump  it; 
We've  got  to  die  somewhere — some  way — some- 

'ow — 

We  might  as  well  begin  to  do  it  now! 
Then,   Number    One,   let   down  the  tent-pole 

slow, 

Knock  out  the  pegs  an'  'old  the  corners — so  ! 
Fold  in  the  flies,  furl  up  the  ropes,  an'  stow  ! 
Oh,  strike — oh,  strike  your  camp  an'  go  ! 
(Gawd  'elp  us  /) 


THE   LADIES. 

I'VE  taken  my  fun  where  I've  found  it; 

I've  rogued  an'  I've  ranged  in  my  time; 
I've  'ad  my  pickin'  o'  sweet' earts, 

An'  four  o'  the  lot  was  prime. 
One  was  an  'arf-caste  widow, 

One  was  a  woman  at  Prome, 
One  was  the  wife  of  a  jemadar-sais,* 

An'  one  is  a  girl  at  'ome. 

Now  I  aren't  no  'and  with  the  ladies, 

For,  takin'  'em  all  along, 
You  never  can  say  tillyoitve  tried  'em, 

An'  then  you  are  like  to  be  wrong. 
There's  times  when  you' II  think  that  you  mightn't, 

There's  times  when  you' II  know  that  you  might ; 
But  the  things  you  will  learn  from  the  Yellow  an' 
Brown, 

They'll  'elpyou  an  'eap  with  the  White! 

*  Head-groom. 
171 


172 


I  was  a  young  un  at  'Oogli, 

Shy  as  a  girl  to  begin ; 
Aggie  de  Castrer  she  made  me, 

An'  Aggie  was  clever  as  sin ; 
Older  than  me,  but  my  first  un — 

More  like  a  mother  she  were — 
Showed  me  the  way  to  promotion  an'  pay, 

An'  I  learned  about  women  from  'er. 


Then  I  was  ordered  to  Burma, 

Actin'  in  charge  o'  Bazar, 
An'  I  got  me  a  tiddy  live  'eathen 

Through  buyin'  supplies  off  'er  pa. 
Funny  an'  yellow  an'  faithful — 

Doll  in  a  teacup  she  were, 

But  we  lived  on  the  square,  like  a  true-married 
pair, 

An'  I  learned  about  women  from  'er. 


Then  we  was  shifted  to  Neemuch 
(Or  I  might  ha'  been  keepin'  'er  now), 

An'  I  took  with  a  shiny  she-devil, 
The  wife  of  a  nigger  at  Mhow ; 


173 


Taught  me  the  gipsy-folks'  bolee;  * 

Kind  o'  volcano  she  were, 

For  she  knifed  me  one  night  'cause  I  wished  she 
was  white, 

And  I  learned  about  women  from  'er. 

Then  I  come  'ome  in  the  trooper, 

'Long  of  a  kid  o'  sixteen — 
Girl  from  a  convent  at  Meerut, 

The  straightest  I  ever  'ave  seen. 
Love  at  first  sight  was  'er  trouble, 

She  didn't  know  what  it  were ; 
An'  I  wouldn't  do  such,  'cause  I  liked  'er  too  much, 

But — I  learned  about  women  from  'er! 

I've  taken  my  fun  where  I've  found  it, 

An'  now  I  must  pay  for  my  fun, 
For  the  more  you  'ave  known  o'  the  others 

The  less  will  you  settle  to  one ; 
An'  the  end  of  it's  sittin'  and  thinkin', 

An'  dreamin'  Hell-fires  to  see; 
So  be  warned  by  my  lot  (which  I  know  you  will 
not), 

An'  learn  about  women  from  me! 

*  Slang. 


J74 


What  did  the  colonel's  lady  think  ? 

Nobody  never  knew. 
Somebody  asked  the  sergeant's  wife, 

An'  she  told  'em  true. 
When  you  get  to  a  man  in  the  case, 

They're  like  as  a  row  of  pins — 
For  the  colonel's  lady  an  Judy  O'Grady 

Are  sisters  under  their  skins! 


BILL  'AWKINS. 

'"As  anybody  seen  Bill  'Awkins  ?" 

"Now  'ow  in  the  devil  would  I  know ?" 
"  'E's  taken  my  girl  out  walkin', 
An'  I've  got  to  tell  'im  so — 
Gawd — bless — 'im  ! 
I've  got  to  tell  'im  so." 


"D'yer  know  what  'e's  like,  Bill  'Awkins?" 

"Now  what  in  the  devil  would  I  care  ?" 
"  'E's   the  livin',   breathin'  image  of   an   organ- 
grinder's  monkey, 
With  a  pound  of  grease  in  'is  'air — 

Gawd — bless — 'im ! 
An'  a  pound  o'  grease  in  'is  'air." 


An'  s'pose  you  met  Bill  'Awkins, 
Now  what  in  the  devil  'ud  ye  do  ? ' 


76  BUI  '£«)kins. 


"I'd  open  'is  cheek  to  'is  chin-strap  buckle, 
An'  bung  up  'is  both  eyes,  too — 

Gawd — bless — 'im ! 
An'  bung  up  'is  both  eyes,  too ! " 


"Look  'ere,  where  'e  comes,  Bill  'Awkins! 

Now  what  in  the  devil  will  you  say  ?  " 
"  It  isn't  fit  an*  proper  to  be  fightin'  on  a  Sunday, 
So  I'll  pass  'im  the  time  o'  day — 

Gawd — bless — 'im ! 
I'll  pass  'im  the  time  o'  day!  " 


THE  MOTHER-LODGE. 

THERE  was  Rundle,  Station  Master, 

An'  Beazeley  of  the  Rail, 
An"  'Ackman,  Commissariat, 

An'  'Donkin  o'  the  Jail; 
An'  Blake,  Conductor-Sargent, 

Our  Master  twice  was  'e, 
With  'im  that  kept  the  Europe  shop, 

Old  Framjee  Eduljee. 

Outside — "Sergeant I    Sir!    Salute!    Salaam!" 
Inside — "  Brother,"  an'  it  doesn't  do  no  'arm. 
We  met  upon  the   Level  an1  we  parted  on  the 

Square, 
An'  I  was  Junior  Deacon  in  my  Mother  Lodge  out 

there  ! 

We'd  Bola  Nath,  Accountant, 

An'  Saul  the  Aden  Jew, 
An'  Din  Mohammed,  draughtsman 

Of  the  Survey  Office  too ; 

177 


178 


There  was  Babu  Chuckerbutty, 

An'  Amir  Singh  the  Sikh, 
An'  Castro  from  the  fittin'-sheds, 

The  Roman  Catholick  ! 

We  'adn't  good  regalia, 

An'  our  Lodge  was  old  an'  bare, 
But  we  knew  the  Ancient  Landmarks, 

An'  we  kep'  'em  to  a  hair; 
An'  lookin'  on  it  backwards 

It  often  strikes  me  thus, 
There  ain't  such  things  as  infidels, 

Excep',  per'aps,  it's  us. 

For  monthly,  after  Labour, 

We'd  all  sit  down  and  smoke 
(We  dursn't  give  no  banquits, 

Lest  a  Brother's  caste  were  broke), 
An'  man  on  man  got  talkin' 

Religion  an'  the  rest, 
An'  every  man  comparin' 

Of  the  God  'e  knew  the  best. 

So  man  on  man  got  talkin', 
An'  not  a  Brother  stirred 


179 


Till  mornin'  waked  the  parrots 
An'  that  dam'  brain-fever-bird  ; 

We'd  say  'twas  'ighly  curious, 
An'  we'd  all  ride  'ome  to  bed, 

With  Mo'ammed,  God,  an'  Shiva 
Changin'  pickets  in  our  'ead. 

Full  oft  on  Guv'ment  service 

This  rovin'  foot  'ath  pressed, 
An'  bore  fraternal  greetin's 

To  the  Lodges  east  an'  west, 
Accordin'  as  commanded 

From  Kohat  to  Singapore, 
But  I  wish  that  I  might  see  them 

In  my  Mother  Lodge  once  more! 

I  wish  that  I  might  see  them, 

My  Brethren  black  an'  brown, 
With  the  trichies  smellin'  pleasant 

An'  the  hog-darn  *  passin'  down  ; 
An'  the  old  khansamah  f  snorin' 

On  the  bottle-khana  J  floor, 
Like  a  Master  in  good  standing 

With  my  Mother  Lodge  once  more! 

*  Cigar-lighter.  f  Butler.  J  Pantry. 


i8o 


Outside  —  "Sergeant!    Sir!    Salute!    Salaam!" 
Inside  —  "  Brother,"  an'  it  doesn't  do  no  'arm. 
We  met  upon  the  Level  an'  we  parted  on  the 

Square, 
An'  I  "was  Junior  Deacon  in  my  Mother  Lodge  out 

there! 


"FOLLOW  ME   'OME." 

THERE  was  no  one  like  'im,  'Orse  or  Foot, 

Nor  any  o'  the  Guns  I  knew; 
An'  because  it  was  so,  why,  o'  course  'e  went  an' 

died, 
Which  is  just  what  the  best  men  do. 

So  it's  knock  out  your  pipes  an'  follow  me  ! 
An'  it's  finish  up  your  swipes  an'  follow  me! 
Oh,  'ark  to  the  big  drum  callin', 
Follow  me — -follow  me  'ome  ! 

'Is  mare  she  neighs  the  'ole  day  long, 

She  paws  the  'ole  night  through, 
An'  she  won't  take  'er  feed  'cause  o'  waitin'  for  'is 

step, 
Which  is  just  what  a  beast  would  do. 

'Is  girl  she  goes  with  a  bombardier 
Before  'er  month  is  through; 

181 


182  ",f0U0rD  me  '<£>me." 

An'  the  banns  are  up  in  church,  for  she's  got  the 

beggar  hooked, 
Which  is  just  what  a  girl  would  do. 

We  fought  'bout  a  dog — last  week  it  were — 

No  more  than  a  round  or  two ; 
But  I  strook  'im  cruel  'ard,  an'  I  wish  I  'adn't 

now, 
Which  is  just  what  a  man  can't  do. 

'E  was  all  that  I  'ad  in  the  way  of  a  friend, 

An'  I've  'ad  to  find  one  new; 
But  I'd  give  my  pay  an'  stripe  for  to  get  the  beggar 

back, 
Which  it's  just  too  late  to  do. 

So  it's  knock  out  your  pipes  an'  follow  me  ! 
An'  it's  finish  off  your  swipes  an'  follow  me! 
Oh,  'ark  to  the  fifes  a-crawlin' ! 
Follow  me— follow  me  'ome  ! 

9 

Take  'im  away  !     'E's  gone  where  the  best 

men  go. 
Take    'im   away!     An'    the  gun-wheels 

turnin'  slow. 


me  '©me."  183 


Take  'im  away!     There's  more  from  the 

place  'e  come. 
Take  'im  away,  with  the  limber  an'   the 

drum. 

For  it's  "  Three  rounds  blank"  an'  follow  me, 
An'  it's  "  Thirteen  rank"  an'  follow  me  ; 
Oh,  passiri  the  love  o'  women, 
Follow  me—  follow  me  'ome  I 


THE  SERGEANT'S  WEDDIN '. 

'E  was  warned  agin  'er — 

That's  what  made  'im  look ; 
She  was  warned  agin  'im — 

That  is  why  she  took. 
'Wouldn't  'ear  no  reason, 

'Went  an'  done  it  blind; 
We  know  all  about  'em, 

They've  got  all  to  find! 

Cheer  for  the  Sergeant's  •weddin'- 
Gi've  'em  one  cheer  more  ! 

Gray  gun-orses  in  the  lando, 
An'  a  rogue  is  married  to,  etc. 

What's  the  use  o'  tellin' 

'Arfthe  lot  she's  been  ? 
'E's  a  bloomin'  robber, 

An*  'e  keeps  canteen. 
'Ow  did  'e  get  'is  buggy  ? 

Gawd,  you  needn't  ask! 
Made  'is  forty  gallon 

Out  of  every  cask ! 

184 


0£rgeant'0  tOefcbin*.  185 


Watch  'im,  with  'is  'air  cut, 

Count  us  filin'  by  — 
Won't  the  Colonel  praise  'is 

Pop  —  u  —  lar  —  i  —  ty  ! 
We  'ave  scores  to  settle  — 

Scores  for  more  than  beer; 
She's  the  girl  to  pay  'em  — 

That  is  why  we're  'ere  ! 

See  the  chaplain  thinkin'  ? 

See  the  women  smile  ? 
Twig  the  married  winkin' 

As  they  take  the  aisle  ? 
Keep  your  side-arms  quiet, 

Dressin'  by  the  Band. 
Ho  !    You  'oly  beggars, 

Cough  be'ind  your  'and  ! 

Now  it's  done  an'  over, 

'Ear  the  organ  squeak, 
"  Voice  that  breathed  o'er  Eden 

Ain't  she  got  the  cheek  ! 
White  an*  laylock  ribbons, 

Think  yourself  so  fine! 
I'd  pray  Gawd  to  take  yer 

Tore  I  made  yer  mine  ! 
13 


1  86  ®I)e  Sergeant's 


Escort  to  the  kerridge, 

Wish  'im  luck,  the  brute  ! 
Chuck  the  slippers  after  — 

[Pity  'taint  a  boot!] 
Bowin'  like  a  lady, 

Blushin'  like  a  lad  — 
'Oo  would  say  to  see  'em  — 

Both  are  rotten  bad  ! 

Cheer  for  the  Sergeant's  weddin' 
Give  'em  one  cheer  more  ! 

Gray  gun-orses  in  the  lando, 
An'  a  rogue  is  married  to,  etc. 


THE  JACKET. 

THROUGH  the  Plagues  of  Egyp'  we  was  chasin' 

Arabi, 

Gettin'  down  an'  shovin'  in  the  sun; 
An'  you  might  'ave  called  us  dirty,  an'  you  might 

ha'  called  us  dry, 

An'  you  might  'ave  'card  us  talkin'  at  the  gun. 
But  the  Captain  'ad  'is  jacket,  an'  the  jacket  it 

was  new — 

('Orse-Gunners,  listen  to  my  song!) 
An'  the  wettin'  of  the  jacket  is  the  proper  thing 

to  do, 
Nor  we  didn't  keep  'im  waiting  very  long! 

One  day  they  give  us  orders  for  to  shell  a  sand  re- 
doubt, 

Loadin'  down  the  axle-arms  with  case; 
But  the  Captain  knew  'is  dooty,  an'  he  took  the 

crackers  out, 
An'  he  put  some  proper  liquor  in  its  place. 


i88  (pe  Jacket. 

An'  the  Captain  saw  the  shrapnel  (which  is  six- 

an'-thirty  clear). 

('Orse-Gunners,  listen  to  my  song!) 
"  Will  you  draw  the  weight,"  sez  'e,  "or  will  you 

draw  the  beer  ?  " 
An'  we  didn't  keep  'im  waitin'  very  long. 

For  the  Captain,  etc. 

Then  we  trotted  gentle,  not  to  break  the  bloomin' 

glass, 

Though  the  Arabites  'ad  all  their  ranges  marked ; 
But  we  dursn't  'ardly  gallop,  for  the  most  was 

bottled  Bass, 

An'  we'd  dreamed  of  it  since  we  was  disem- 
barked. 
So  we  fired  economic  with  the  shells  we  'ad  in  'and, 

('Orse-Gunners,  listen  to  my  song!) 
But  the  beggars  under  cover  'ad  the  impidence  to 

stand, 
An'  we  couldn't  keep  'em  waitin'  very  long. 

And  the  Captain,  etc. 

So  we  finished  'arf  the  liquor  (an'  the  Captain  took 

champagne), 
An'  the  Arabites  was  shootin'  all  the  while; 


OTlje  lackcl.   "  189 


An'  we  left  our  wounded  'appy  with  the  empties 

on  the  plain, 

An'  we  used  the  bloomin*  guns  for  pro-jec-tile ! 
We  limbered  up  an'  galloped — there  were  nothin' 

else  to  do — 

('Orse-Gunners,  listen  to  my  song!) 
An'  the  Battery  come  a-boundin'  like  a  boundin' 

kangaroo, 
But  they  didn't  watch  us  comin'  very  long. 

As  the  Captain,  etc. 


We  was  goin'  most  extended — we  was  drivin' 

very  fine, 

An'  the  Arabites  were  loosin'  'igh  an'  wide, 
Till  the  Captain  took  the  glassy  with  a  rattlin' 

right  incline, 

An'  we  dropped  upon  their  'eads  the  other  side. 
Then  we  give  'em  quarter — such  as  'adn't  up  and 

cut, 

('Orse-Gunners,  listen  to  my  song!) 
An'  the  Captain  stood  a  limberful  of  fizzy — some- 
thin'  Brutt, 
But  we  didn't  leave  it  fizzing  very  long. 

For  the  Captain,  etc. 


We    might  ha'  been  court-martialled,  but  it  all 

come  out  all  right 

When  they  signalled  us  to  join  the  main  com- 
mand. 
There  was  every  round  expended,  there  was  every 

gunner  tight, 
An'  the  Captain  waved  a  corkscrew  in  'is  'and ! 

But  the  Captain  had  'is  jacket,  etc. 


THE   'GATHER 

THE  'eathen  in  'is  blindness  bows  down  to  wood 

an'  stone ; 

'E  don't  obey  no  orders  unless  they  is  'is  own ; 
'E  keeps  'is  side-arms  awful:   'e  leaves  'em  all 

about, 
An'  then  comes  up  the  regiment  an'  pokes  the 

'eathen  out. 


All  along  o'  dirtiness,  all  along  6"  mess, 
All  along  o'  doiri  things  rather-more-or-less, 
All  along  of  abby-nay*  kul,\  and  ha^ar-ho,  J 
Mind  you  keep  your  rifle  an'  yourself  jus'  so! 

The  young  recruit  is  'aughty — 'e  drafs  from  Gawd 

knows  where; 
They  bid  'im  show  'is  stockin's  an'  lay  'is  mattress 

square ; 


Not  now.     f  To-morrow.     $  Wait  a  bit. 
191 


192 


'E  calls  it  bloomin'  nonsense — 'e  doesn't  know,  no 

more — 

An'  then  up  comes   'is  company  an'  kicks  'em 
round  the  floor! 

The  young  recruit  is  'ammered — 'e  takes  it  very 

'ard; 
'E  'angs  'is  'ead  an'  mutters — 'e  sulks  about  the 

yard; 
'E  talks  o'  "  cruel  tyrants  "  'e'll  swing  for  by-an'- 

bye, 
An'  the  others  'ears  an'  mocks  'im,  an'  the  boy 

goes  orf  to  cry. 

The  young  recruit  is  silly — 'e  thinks  o'  suicide; 
'E's  lost  'is  gutter-devil;  'e  'asn't  got  'is  pride; 
But  day  by  day  they  kicks  'im,  which  'elps  'im  on 

a  bit, 
Till  'e  finds  'isself  one  mornin'  with   a  full  an' 

proper  kit. 

Gettin'  clear  o'    dirtiness,  gettin'   done  with 

mess, 
Gettin'  shut  o'  doin'  things  rather -tnore-or- 

less  ; 

Not  so  fond  of  abby-nay,  kul,  nor  ha^ar-ho, 
Learns  to  keep  'is  rifle  an'  'isself  jus'  so! 


193 


The  young  recruit  is  'appy — 'e  throws  a  chest  to 

suit; 
You  see  'im  grow  mustaches;  you  'ear  'im  slap  'is 

boot; 
'E  learns  to  drop  the  "bloodies"  from  every  word 

he  slings, 
An'  'e  shows  an  'ealthy  brisket  when  'e  strips  for 

bars  an'  rings. 


The  cruel  tyrant  sergeants  they  watch  'im  'arf  a 
year; 

They  watch  'im  with  'is  comrades,  they  watch  'im 
with  'is  beer; 

They  watch  'im  with  the  women,  at  the  regi- 
mental dance, 

And  the  cruel  tyrant  sergeants  send  'is  name  along 
for  "Lance." 


An'  now  'e's  'arf  o'  nothin',  an'  all  a  private  yet, 
'Is  room  they  up  an'  rags  'im  to  see  what  they  will 

get; 
They  rags  'im  low  an'  cunnin',  each  dirty  trick 

they  can, 
But  'e  learns  to  sweat  'is  temper  an'  'e  learns  to 

know  'is  man. 


194 


An',   last,    a  Colour-Sergeant,    as    such     to    be 

obeyed, 

'E  leads  'is  men  at  cricket,  'e  leads  'em  on  parade; 
They  sees  'em  quick  an'  'andy,  uncommon  set  an' 

smart, 
An'  so  'e  talks  to  orficers  which  'ave  the  Core  at 

'eart. 

'E  learns  to  do  'is  watchin'  without  it  showin' 

plain ; 
'E  learns  to  save  a  dummy,  an'  shove  'im  straight 

again ; 
'E  learns  to  check  a  ranker  that's  buyin'  leave  to 

shirk ; 
An'  'e  learns  to  make  men  like  'im  so  they'll  learn 

to  like  their  work. 


An'  when  it  comes  to  marchin'  he'll  see  their  socks 

are  right, 
An'  when  it  comes  to  action  'e  shows  'em  'ow  to 

sight; 
'E  knows  their  ways  of  thinkin'  and  just  what's  in 

their  mind ; 
'E  feels  when  they  are  comin'  on  an'  when  they've 

fell  be'ind. 


(Elje  '<EaU)nt.  195 


'E  knows  each  talkin'  corpril  that  leads  a  squad 

astray ; 
'E    feels    'is    innards    'eavin',    'is  bowels    givin' 

way; 
'E  sees  the  blue-white   faces  all   tryin'   'ard   to 

grin, 
An'  'e  stands  an'  waits  an'  suffers  till  it's  time  to 

cap  'em  in. 

An'  now  the  hugly  bullets  come  peckin'  through 

the  dust, 
An'  no  one  wants  to  face  'em,  but  every  beggar 

must; 

So,  like  a  man  in  irons  which  isn't  glad  to  go, 
They  moves  'em  off   by  companies  uncommon 

stiff  an'  slow. 


Of  all  'is  five  years'  schoolin'  they  don't  remember 

much 
Excep'   the  not  retreatin',   the  step  an'   keepin' 

touch. 
It  looks  like  teachin'  wasted  when  they  duck  an' 

spread  an'  'op, 
But  if  'e  'adn't  learned  'em  they'd  be  all  about  the 

shop! 


i96 


An'  now  it's  '"Oo  goes  backward?"  an'  now  it's 

"'Oo  comes  on  ?" 
An'  now  it's   "Get  the  doolies,"  an'  now  the 

captain's  gone; 
An'  now  it's  bloody  murder,  but  all  the  while  they 

'ear 
'Is  voice,  the  same  as  barrick  drill,  a-shepherdin' 

the  rear. 

'E's  just  as  sick  as  they  are,  'is  'eart  is  like  to 

split, 
But  'e  works  'em,  works  'em,  works  'em  till  'e 

feels  'em  take  the  bit ; 
The  rest  is  'oldin'  steady  till  the  watchful  bugles 

play, 
An'  'e  lifts  'em,  lifts  'em,    lifts  'em  through  the 

charge  that  wins  the  day ! 

The  'eathen  in  'is  blindness  bows  down  to  wood 
an'  stone; 

'E  don't  obey  no  orders  unless  they  is  'is  own; 

The  'eathen  in  'is  blindness  must  end  where  'e 
began, 

But  the  backbone  of  the  Army  is  the  noncom- 
missioned man  ! 


'(£aU)en.  197 


Keep  away  from  dirtiness  —  keep  away  from 

mess. 

Don't  get  into  doin'  things  rather-more-or-less  ! 
Let's  ha'  done  with  abby-nay,  kill,  an'  ha^ar-ho; 
Mind  you  keep  your  rifle  an'  yourself  jus'  so  ! 


THE  SHUT-EYE  SENTRY. 

SEZ  the  Junior  Orderly  Sergeant 

To  the  Senior  Orderly  Man : 
"  Our  Orderly  Orf  cer's  hokee-mut, 

You  'elp  'im  all  you  can. 
For  the  wine  was  old  and  the  night  is  cold, 

An'  the  best  we  may  go  wrong, 
So,  'fore  'e  gits  to  the  sentry-box, 

You  pass  the  word  along. " 

Then  it  was  "Rounds!    What  rounds ?"  at  two 

of  a  frosty  night, 
'E's  'oldin'  on  by  the  sergeant's  sash,  but,  sentry, 

shut  your  eye. 
An'  it's  "Passf  All's  well!  "   Oh,  ain't  'e  rockin' 

tight! 
'Ell  need  an  affidavit  pretty  badly  by-an'-bye. 

The  moon  was  white  on  the  barricks, 

The  road  was  white  an'  wide, 
An'  the  Orderly  Orf  cer  took  it  all, 

An'  the  ten-foot  ditch  beside. 

198 


199 


An'  the  corporal  pulled  an'  the  sergeant  pushed, 
An'  the  three  they  wagged  along, 

*But  I'd  shut  my  eyes  in  the  sentry-box, 
So  I  didn't  see  nothin*  wrong. 

Though  it  was  "Rounds!    What  rounds?"    O 

corporal,  'old  'im  up  ! 
'E's  usin'  'is  cap  as  it  shouldn't  be  used,  but, 

sentry,  shut  your  eye. 
<4n'  it's  "Pass!  All's  well!"  Ho,  shun  the  foam- 

in'  cup! 
'E'll  need,  etc. 

Twas  after  four  in  the  mornin'; 

We  'ad  to  stop  the  fun, 
An'  we  sent  'im  'ome  on  a  bullock-cart, 

With  'is  belt  an'  stock  undone  ; 
But  we  sluiced  'im  down  an'  we  washed  'im 
out, 

An'  a  first-class  job  we  made, 
When  we  saved  'im  smart  as  a  bombardier 

For  six  o'clock  parade. 

//  'ad  been  "Rounds  !   What  rounds  ?  "  Oh,  shove 

'im  straight  again  ! 

'E's  usin'  'is  sword  fora  bicycle,  but,  sentry,  shut 
your  eye. 


Scntrg. 


An1  it  was  "Pass!    All's  well!"    'E's  called  m» 

"darlin'  Jane  "I 
'E'll  need,  etc. 

The  drill  was  'ard  an'  'eavy, 

The  sky  was  'ot  an'  blue, 
An'  'is  eye  was  wild  an'  'is  'air  was  wet, 

But  'is  sergeant  pulled  'im  through. 
Our  men  was  good  old  trusties — 

They'd  done  it  on  their  'ead; 
But  you  ought  to  'ave  'card  'em  markin'  time 

To  'ide  the  things  'e  said ! 

For  it  was  "Right  flank — wheel!"  for  "  'Alt,  an' 

stand  at  ease  !  " 
An'  "Left  extend!"  for  "Centre  close!"  O 

marker,  shut  your  eye  ! 
An'  it  was,  "'Ere,  sir,  'ere!  before  the  colonel 

sees!" 
So  he  needed  affidavits  pretty  badly  by-an'-bye. 

There  was  two-an'-thirty  sergeants, 

There  was  corp'rals  forty-one, 
There  was  just  nine  'undred  rank  an'  file 

To  swear  to  a  touch  o'  sun. 


Sentrg. 


There  was  me  'e'd  kissed  in  the  sentry-box 
(As  I  'ave  not  told  in  my  song), 

But  I  took  my  oath,  which  were  Bible  truth, 
1  'adn't  seen  nothin'  wrong. 

There's  them  that's  'ot  an'  'aughty, 

There's  them  that's  cold  an'  'ard, 
But  there  comes  a  night  when  the  best  gets 
tight, 

An'  then  turns  out  the  Guard. 
I've  seen  them  'ide  their  liquor 

In  every  kind  o'  way, 
But  most  depends  on  makin'  friends 

With  Privit  Thomas  A. 

When  it  is  "Rounds!     What  rounds?"     'E's 

breathin'  through  'is  nose. 
'E'sreeliri,  rollin',  roariri  ripe,  but,  sentry,  shut 

your  eye. 
An'  it's  '  'Pass  !   All's  well !  "   An'  that's  the  way 

it  goes. 

We'll  'elp  'im  for  'is  mother,  an'  'e'll  'elp  us 
by-an'-bye. 


"MARY,   PITY  WOMEN!" 

You  call  yourself  a  man, 

For  all  you  used  to  swear, 
An'  leave  me,  as  you  can, 

My  certain  shame  to  bear  ? 

I  'ear!    You  do  not  care — 

You  done  the  worst  you  know. 
I  'ate  you,  grinnin'  there.  .  .  . 

Ah,  Gawd,  I  love  you  so ! 

Nice  while  it  lasted,  an'  now  it  is  over — 
Tear  out  your  'eart  an'  good-bye  to  your  lover! 
What's  the  use  61  grievin',  when  the  mother  that 

bore  you 
(Mary,  pity  women  /)  knew  it  all  before  you  ? 

It  aren't  no  false  alarm, 

The  finish  to  your  fun ; 
You — you  'ave  brung  the  'arm, 

An'  I'm  the  ruined  one; 
202 


"Jttarg,  ptg  tOomen!"  203 

An'  now  you'll  off  an'  run 
With  some  new  fool  in  tow. 

Your  'eart  ?    You  'aven't  none.  .  .  . 
Ah,  Gawd,  I  love  you  so! 

When  a  man  is  tired  there  is  naught  will  bind 

'im  ; 

All  'e  solemn  promised  'e  will  shove  be'ind  'im. 
What's  the  good  o'  prayin'  for  The   Wrath  to 

strike  'im, 
(Mary,  pity  women  /)  when  the  rest  are  like  'im  ? 

What  'ope  for  me  or — it  ? 

What's  left  for  us  to  do  ? 
I've  walked  with  men  a  bit, 

But  this — but  this  is  you ! 

So  'elp  me  Christ,  it's  true ! 

Where  can  I  'ide  or  go  ? 
You  coward  through  an'  through !  .  .  . 

Ah,  Gawd,  I  love  you  so ! 

All  the  more  you  give  'em  the  less  are  they  for 

givin'! 

Love  lies  dead,  an'  you  can  not  kiss  'im  limn'. 
Down  the  road  'e  led  you  there  is  no  returning 
(Mary,  pity  women .')  but  you're  late  in  learnin'. 


204  "Jttora,  pig 


You'd  like  to  treat  me  fair  ? 
You  can't,  because  we're  pore  ? 

We'd  starve  ?  What  do  I  care  ! 
We  might,  but  this  is  shore  : 
I  want  the  name  —  no  more  — 
The  name,  an'  lines  to  show, 

An'  not  to  be  an  'ore.  .  .  . 
Ah,  Gawd,  I  love  you  so  ! 

What's  the  good  o'  pleadiri,  when  the  mother 

that  bore  you 

(Mary,  pity  women  !)  knew  it  all  before  you  ? 
Sleep  on  'is  promises  an1  wake  to  your  sorrow, 
(Mary,  pity  women  /)  for  we  sail  to-morrow  ! 


FOR  TO  ADMIRE. 

THE  Injian  Ocean  sets  an'  smiles 

So  sof,  so  bright,  so  bloomin'  blue; 
There  aren't  a  wave  for  miles  an'  miles 

Excep'  the  jiggle  from  the  screw. 
The  ship  is  swep',  the  day  is  done, 

The  bugle's  gone  for  smoke  an'  play; 
An'  black  ag'in'  the  settin'  sun 

The  Lascar  sings,   "  Hum  deckty  hail 

For  to  admire  an'  for  to  see, 
For  to  be' old  this  world  so  wide — 

//  never  done  no  good  to  me, 
But  I  can't  drop  it  if  I  tried  I 

\  see  the  sergeants  pitchin'  quoits, 
I  'ear  the  women  laugh  an'  talk, 

I  spy  upon  the  quarter-deck 
The  orficers  an'  lydies  walk. 


"  I'm  looking  out." 
205 


206  for  to  Entire. 


I  thinks  about  the  things  that  was, 
An'  leans  an'  looks  acrost  the  sea, 

Till,  spite  of  all  the  crowded  ship, 
There's  no  one  lef  alive  but  me. 

The  things  that  was  which  I  'ave  seen, 

In  barrick,  camp,  an'  action  too, 
I  tells  them  over  by  myself, 

An'  sometimes  wonders  if  they're  true ; 
For  they  was  odd — most  awful  odd — 

But  all  the  same  now  they  are  o'er, 
There  must  be  'caps  o'  plenty  such, 

An'  if  I  wait  I'll  see  some  more. 

Oh,  I  'ave  come  upon  the  books, 

An'  often  broke  a  barrick  rule, 
An'  stood  beside  an'  watched  myself 

Be'avin'  like  a  bloomin'  fool. 
I  paid  my  price  for  findin'  out, 

Nor  never  grutched  the  price  I  paid, 
But  sat  in  Clink  without  my  boots, 

Admirin'  'ow  the  world  was  made. 

Be'old  a  cloud  upon  the  beam, 
An'  'umped  above  the  sea  appears 

Old  Aden,  like  a  barrick-stove 
That  no  one's  lit  for  years  an'  years ! 


£0*  to  Qtbtnire.  207 

I  passed  by  that  when  I  began, 

An'  I  go  'ome  the  road  I  came, 
A  time-expired  soldier-man 

With  six  years'  service  to  'is  name. 

My  girl  she  said,  "  Oh,  stay  with  me!  " 

My  mother  'eld  me  to  'er  breast. 
They've  never  written  none,  an'  so 

They  must  'ave  gone  with  all  the  rest — 
With  all  the  rest  which  I  'ave  seen 

An'  found  an'  known  an'  met  along. 
I  cannot  say  the  things  I  feel, 

But  still  I  sing  my  evenin'  song: 

For  to  admire  an '  for  to  see, 
For  to  be' old  this  world  so  wide — 

//  never  done  no  good  to  me, 
But  I  can't  drop  it  if  I  tried! 


WHEN  Earth's  last  picture  is  painted,  and  the  tubes 

are  twisted  and  dried, 
When  the  oldest  colours    have  faded,   and  the 

youngest  critic  has  died, 
We  shall  rest,  and,   faith,  we  shall  need  it — lie 

down  for  an  aeon  or  two, 
Till  the  Master  of  All  Good  Workmen  shall  set  us 

to  work  anew! 


And  those  that  were  good  shall  be  happy :  they 
shall  sit  in  a  golden  chair; 

They  shall  splash  at  a  ten-league  canvas  with 
brushes  of  comets'  hair; 

They  shall  find  real  saints  to  draw  from — Mag- 
dalene, Peter,  and  Paul; 

They  shall  work  for  an  age  at  a  sitting  and  never 
be  tired  at  all! 

208 


209 


And  only  the  Master  shall  praise  us,  and  only  the 

Master  shall  blame; 
And  no  one  shall  work  for  money,  and  no  one 

shall  work  for  fame ; 
But  each  for  the  joy  of  the  working,  and  each,  in 

his  separate  star, 
Shall  draw  the  Thing  as  he  sees  It  for  the  God  of 

Things  as  They  Are! 


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HE  SEVEN  SEAS.  A  volume  of  poems  by 
RUDYARD  KIPLING,  author  of  "  Many  Inventions,"  "  Barrack- 
Room  Ballads,"  etc.  I2mo.  Cloth,  $1.50  ;  half  calf,  $3.00 ; 
morocco,  $5.00. 

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reading  world.  .  .  .  When  we  turn  to  the  larger  portion  of  '  The  Seven  Seas,'  how 
imaginative  it  is,  how  impassioned,  how  superbly  rhythmic  and  sonorous.!  .  ,  .  The 
ring  and  diction  of  this  verse  add  new  elements  to  our  song.  .  .  .  The  true  laureate 
of  Greater  Britain." — E.  C.  Stfdman,  in  the  Book  Buyer. 

"  The  most  original  poet  who  has  appeared  in  his  generation.  .  .  .  His  is  the  lusti- 
est voice  now  lifted  in  the  world,  the  clearest,  the  bravest,  with  the  fewest  false  notes 
in  it.  ...  I  do  not  see  why,  in  reading  his  book,  we  should  not  put  ourselves  in  the 
presence  of  a  great  poet  again,  and  consent  to  put  off  our  mourning  for  the  high  ones 
lately  dead."—  W.  D.  ffoweUs. 

"  'The  Seven  Seas '  is  the  most  remarkable  book  of  verse  that  Mr.  Kipling  has 
given  us.  Here  the  human  sympathy  is  broader  and  deeper,  the  patriotism  heartier 
and  fuller,  the  intellectual  and  spiritual  insight  keener,  the  command  of  the  literary 
vehicle  more  complete  and  sure,  than  in  any  previous  verse  work  by  the  author.  The 
volume  pulses  with  power— power  often  rough  and  reckless  in  expression,  but  invariably 
conveying  the  effect  intended.  There  is  scarcely  a  line  which  does  not  testify  to  the 
strong  individuality  of  the  writer." — London  Globe. 

"  Mr.  Kipling's  '  The  Seven  Seas '  is  a  distinct  advance  upon  his  characteristic 
lines.  The  surpassing  strength,  the  almost  violent  originality,  the  glorious  swish  and 
swing  of  his  lines— all  are  there  in  increased  measure.  .  .  .  The  book  is  a  marvel  of 
originality  and  genius— a  brand-new  landmark  in  the  history  of  English  letters."— 
Chicago  Tribune. 

Jl/TANY  INVENTIONS.  By  RUDYARD  KIPLING. 
•*  V-L  Containing  Fourteen  Stories  and  Two  Poems.  I2mo,  427 
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" « Many  Inventions '  will  confirm  Mr.  Kipling's  reputation.  ...  We  would  cite 
with  pleasure  sentences  from  almost  every  page,  and  extract  incidents  from  almost 
every  story.  But  to  what  end  ?  Here  is  the  completes!  book  that  Mr.  Kipling  has  yet 
given  us  in  workmanship,  the  weightiest  and  most  humane  in  breadth  of  view."— 
Pall  Mall  Gazette. 

"  Mr.  Kipling's  powers  as  a  story-teller  are  evidently  not  diminishing.  We  advise 
everybody  to  buy  '  Many  Inventions,'  and  to  profit  by  some  of  the  best  entertainment 
that  modem  fiction  has  to  offer."— JWw  York  Sun. 

"  '  Many  Inventions '  will  be  welcomed  wherever  the  English  language  is  spoken. 
.  .  Every  one  of  the  stories  bears  the  imprint  of  a  master  who  conjures  up  incident 
as  if  by  magic,  and  who  portrays  character,  scenery,  and  feeling  with  an  ease  which  is 
only  exceeded  by  the  boldness  of  force."— Boston  Globe. 


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BY  ANTHONY   HOPE. 

HE  CHRONICLES  OF  COUNT  ANTONIO. 
With  Photogravure  Frontispiece  by  S.  W.  Van  Schaick.  I2mo, 
Cloth,  $1.50. 

"  No  adventures  were  ever  better  worth  recounting  than  are  those  of  Antonio  of 
Monte  Velluto,  a  very  Bayard  among  outlaws.  ...  To  all  those  whose  pulses  still  stir 
at  the  recital  of  deeds  of  high  courage,  we  may  recommend  this  book.  .  .  .  The  chron- 
icle conveys  the  emotion  of  heroic  adventure,  and  is  picturesquely  written." — Lon- 
don Daily  News. 

"It  has  literary  merits  all  its  own,  of  a  deliberate  and  rather  deep  order.  .  .  . 
In  point  of  execution  '  The  Chronicles  of  Count  Antonio '  is  the  best  work  that  Mr. 
Hope  has  yet  done.  The  design  is  clearer,  the  workmanship  more  elaborate,  the  style 
more  colored." — Westminster  Gazette. 

"A  romance  worthy  of  all  the  expectations  raised  by  the  brilliancy  of  his  former 
books,  and  likely  to  be  read  with  a  keen  enjoyment  and  a  healthy  exaltation  of  the 
spirits  by  every  one  who  takes  it  up." — The  Scotsman. 

"A  gallant  tale,  written  with  unfailing  freshness  and  spirit"— London  Daily 
Telegraph. 

"  One  of  the  most  fascinating  romances  written  in  English  within  many  days.  The 
quaint  simplicity  of  its  style  is  delightful,  and  the  adventures  recorded  in  these  '  Chron- 
icles of  Coun*.  Antonio '  are  as  stirring  and  ingenious  as  any  conceived  even  by  Wey- 
man  at  his  best."—  New  York  World. 

"No  adventures  were  ever  better  worth  telling  than  those  of  Count  Antonio. 
.  .  .  The  author  knows  full  well  how  to  make  every  pulse  thrill,  and  how  to  hold  his 
readers  under  the  spell  of  his  magic." — Boston  Herald. 

"J^HE  GOD  IN  THE  CAR.    New  edition.    Uniform 
•*•       with   "The   Chronicles   of  Count   Antonio."      I2mo.      Cloth, 

$1.25. 

"  '  The  God  in  the  Car'  is  just  as  clever,  just  as  distinguished  in  style,  just  as  full 
of  wit,  and  of  what  nowadays  some  persons  like  better  than  wit— allusiveness— as 
any  of  his  stories.  It  is  saturated  with  the  modern  atmosphere ;  is  not  only  a  very 
clever  but  a  very  strong  story ;  in  some  respects,  we  think,  the  strongest  Mr.  Hope 
has  yet  written." — London  Speaker. 

"  A  very  remarkable  book,  deserving  of  critical  analysis  impossible  within  our 
limit;  brilliant,  but  not  superficial;  well  considered,  but  not  elaborated ;  constructed 
with  the  proverbial  art  that  conceals,  but  yet  allows  itself  to  be  enjoyed  by  readers  to 
whom  fine  literary  method  is  a  keen  pleasure." — London  World. 

"  The  book  is  a  brilliant  one.  .  .  .  '  The  God  in  the  Car '  is  one  of  the  most  re- 
markable works  in  a  year  that  has  given  us  the  handiwork  of  nearly  all  our  best  living 
novelists." — London  Standard. 


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D.  APPLETON   AND  COMPANY'S  PUBLICATIONS. 
BY   A.  CONAN   DOYLE. 

Uniform  edition.     I2mo.     Cloth,  $1.50  per  volume. 

/J  DUET,  WITH  AN  OCCASIONAL  CHORUS. 

•*~*-  Dr.  Doyle  shows  a  new  phase  of  his  fine  talent  in  this  book.  As 
a  story  of  wedded  love  it  has  an  idyllic  character  which  will  appeal  to 
every  reader  not  devoid  of  healthy  sentiment.  As  an  adroit  interpretation 
of  a  trus  philosophy  of  wedded  life  the  story  contains  illustrations  and  pithy 
sayings  which  will  enlist  the  interest  of  women  and  men  alike.  As  a  story 
pure  and  simple,  the  play  of  motives,  contrast  of  characters,  unexpected  in- 
cidents, delightful  humor,  and  sustained  interest  will  be  certain  to  increase 
the  large  company  of  the  author's  friends.  Probably  American  readers  will 
feel  a  stronger  interest  than  their  English  cousins  in  the  vivid  glimpses  which 
the  author  contrives  to  introduce  of  historic  scenes  in  Westminster  Abbey, 
of  St.  Olaf's  Church,  the  burial-place  of  Pepys,  and  of  the  home  of  Thomas 
Carlyle. 

T  JNCLE  BERN  AC.     A  Romance  of  the.  Empire. 

t^     "Simple,  clear,  and  well  defined.  .  .  .  Spirited   in  movement  all  the  way 

through.  ...  A  fine  example  of  clear  analytical  force."— Boston  Herald. 
"  From  the  opening  pages  the  clear  and  energetic  telling  of  the  story  never  falters 
and  our  attention  never  flags." — London  Observer. 

^HE  EXPLOITS  OF  BRIGADIER  GERARD. 
A  Romance  of  the  Life  of  a  Typical  Napoleonic  Sol- 
dier. 

"Good,  stirring  tales  are  they.  .  .  .  Remind  one  of  those  adventures  indulged  in 
by  '  The  Three  Musketeers.'  .  .  .  Written  with  a  dash  and  swing  that  here  and  there 
carry  one  away." — New  York  Mail  and  Express. 

DODNEY  STONE. 

-*-  *-    A  notable  and  very  brilliant  work  of  genius." — London  Speaker. 

"  Dr.  Doyle's  novel  is  crowded  with  an  amazing  amount  of  incident  and  excite- 
ment. ...  He  does  not  write  history,  but  shows  us  the  human  side  of  his  great  men, 
living  and  moving  in  an  atmosphere  charged  with  the  spirit  of  the  hard-living,  hard- 
fighting  Anglo-Saxon." — New  York  Critic. 

DOUND    THE  RED  LAMP. 

Being  Facts  and  Fancies  of  Medical  Life. 

"  A  strikingly  realistic  and  decidedly  original  contribution  to  modem  literature."— 
Boston  Saturday  Evening  Gazette. 

rHE  STARK  MUNRO  LETTERS. 
Being  a  Series  of  Twelve  Letters  written  by  STARK  MUNRO,  M.  B., 
to  his  friend  and  former  fellow-student,  Herbert  Swanborough,  of 
Lowell,  Massachusetts,  during  the  years  1881-1884. 

"  Cullingworth,  ...  a  much  more  interesting  creation  than  Sherlock  Holmes,  and 
I  pray  Dr.  Doyle  to  give  us  more  of  him."—  Richard  le  Gallienne,  in  the  London  Star. 

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D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY'S  PUBLICATIONS. 

GILBERT   PARKER'S    BEST   BOOKS. 
Uniform  Edition. 

H^HE  SEATS   OF   THE   MIGHTY.      Being  the 

•^  Memoirs  of  Captain  ROBERT  MORAY,  sometime  an  Officer  in 
the  Virginia  Regiment,  and  afterwards  of  Amherst's  Regiment 
Illustrated,  $1.50. 

"Another  historical  romance  of  the  vividness  and  intensity  of  The  Seats  of  the 
Mighty '  has  never  come  from  the  pen  of  an  American.  Mr.  Parker's  latest  work  may 
without  hesitation  be  set  down  as  the  best  he  has  done.  From  the  first  chapter  to  the 
last  word  interest  in  the  book  never  wanes;  one  finds  it  difficult  to  interrupt  the  narra- 
tive with  breathing  space.  It  whirls  with  excitement  and  strange  adventure.  .  .  .  All 
of  the  scenes  do  homage  to  the  genius  of  Mr.  Parker,  aud  make  '  The  Seats  of  the 
Mighty '  one  of  the  books  of  the  year." — Chicago  Record. 

"  Mr.  Gilbert  Parker  is  to  be  congratulated  on  the  excellence  of  his  latest  story, 
'  The  Seats  of  the  Mighty,'  and  his  readers  are  to  be  congratulated  on  the  direction 
which  his  talents  have  taken  therein.  ...  It  is  so  good  that  we  do  not  stop  to  think  of 
its  literature,  and  the  personality  of  Doltaire  is  a  masterpiece  of  creative  art"— New 
York  Mail  and  Express. 


T 


HE    TRAIL    OF    THE    SWORD.      A    Novel. 
$1.25. 

"  Mr.  Parker  here  adds  to  a  reoutation  already  wide,  and  anew  demonstrates  his 
power  of  pictorial  portrayal  and  of  strong  dramatic  situation  and  climax." — Philadel- 
phia Bulletin. 

"  The  tale  holds  the  reader's  interest  from  first  to  last,  for  it  is  full  of  fire  and  spirit, 
abounding  in  incident,  and  marked  by  good  character  drawing." — Pittsburg  Times. 


T. 


TRESPASSER.     $1.25. 


"  Interest,  pith,  force,  and  charm — Mr.  Parker's  new  story  possesses  ?!1  these 
qualities.  .  .  .  Almost  bare  of  synthetical  decoration,  his  paragraphs  are  stirring  be- 
cause they  are  real.  We  read  at  times— as  we  have  read  the  great  masters  of  romance 
—breathlessly."— 7"A*  Critic. 

"  Gilbert  Parker  writes  a  strong  novel,  but  thus  far  this  is  his  masterpiece.  ...  It 
is  one  of  the  great  novels  of  the  year."— Boston  Advertiser. 


Ti 


TRANSLATION  OF  A  SAVAGE.     $1.25. 

•A  book  which  no  one  will  be  satisfied  to  put  down  until  the  end  has  been 
matter  of  certainty  and  assurance." — The  Nation. 

"A  story  of  remarkable  interest,  originality,  and  ingenuity  of  construction."- 
Boston  Home  Jcurnal. 

?S.  FALCHION.     $1.25. 

A  well-knit  story,  told  in  an  exceedingly  interesting  way,  and  holding  tho 
s  attention  to  the  end." 


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D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY'S  PUBLICATIONS, 


D 


A  BOOK   THAT   WILL  LIVE." 

AVID  HARUM.     A  Story  of  American  Life.     By 
EDWARD  NOYES  WESTCOTT.     i2mo.    Cloth,  $1.50. 

"  Mr.  Westcott  has  done  for  central  New  York  what  Mr.  Cable,  Mr.  Page,  and 
Mr.  Harris  have  done  for  different  parts  of  the  South,  and  what  Miss  Jewett  and  Miss 
Wilkins  are  doing  for  New  England,  and  Mr.  Hamlin  Garland  for  the  West.  .  .  . 
'  David  Harum '  is  a  masterly  delineation  of  an  American  type.  .  .  .  Here  is  life  with 
all  its  joys  and  sorrows.  .  .  .  David  Harum  lives  in  these  pages  as  he  will  live  in  the 
mind  of  the  reader.  .  .  .  He  deserves  to  be  known  by  all  good  Americans ;  he  is  one 
of  them  in  boundless  energy,  in  large-heartedness,  in  shrewdness,  and  in  humor." — 
The  Critic. 

"  Thoroughly  a  pure,  original,  and  fresh  American  type.  David  Harum  is  a 
character  whose  qualities  of  mind  and  heart,  eccentricities,  and  dry  humor  will  win  for 
his  creator  notable  distinction.  Buoyancy,  life,  and  cheerfulness  are  dominant  notes. 
In  its  vividness  and  force  the  story  is  a  strong,  fresh  picture  of  American  life.  Original 
and  true,  it  is  worth  the  same  distinction  which  is  accorded  the  genre  pictures  of 
peculiar  types  and  places  sketched  by  Mr.  George  W.  Cable,  Mr.  Joel  Chandler 
Harris,  Mr.  Thomas  Nelson  Page,  Miss  Wilkins,  Miss  Jewett,  Mr.  Garland,  Miss 
French,  Miss  Murfree,  Mr.  Gilbert  Parker,  Mr.  Owen  Wister,  and  Bret  Harte.  .  .  . 
A  pretty  love  story  also  adds  to  the  attractiveness  of  the  book,  that  will  be  appreciated 
at  once  by  every  one  who  enjoys  real  humor,  strong  character,  true  pictures  of  life,  and 
work  that  is  '  racy  of  the  soil."  " — Boston  Herald. 

"  Mr.  AVestcott  has  created  a  new  and  interesting  type.  .  .  .  The  character  sketch- 
ing and  building,  so  far  as  David  Harum  is  concerned,  is  well-nigh  perfect.  The  book 
is  wonderfully  bright,  readable,  and  graphic." — New  York  Times. 

"The  main  character  ought  to  become  familiar  to  thousands  of  readers,  and  will 
probably  take  his  place  in  time  beside  Joel  Chandler  Harris's  and  Thomas  Nelson 
Page's  and  Miss  Wilkins's  creations."— Chicago  Times-Herald, 

"  We  give  Edward  Noyes  Westcott  his  true  place  in  American  letters— placing 
him  as  a  humorist  next  to  Mark  Twain,  as  a  master  of  dialect  above  Lowell,  as  a 
descriptive  writer  equal  to  Bret  Harte,  and,  on  the  whole,  as  a  novelist  on  a  par  with 
the  best  of  those  who  live  and  have  their  being  in  the  heart  of  hearts  of  American 
readers.  If  the  author  is  dead— lamentable  fact— his  book  will  live."— Philadelphia 
Item. 

"  True,  strong,  and  thoroughly  alive,  with  a  humor  like  that  of  Abraham  Lincoln 
and  a  nature  as  sweet  at  the  core.  The  spirit  of  the  book  is  genial  and  wholesome,  and 
the  love  story  is  in  keening  with  it.  ...  The  book  adds  one  more  to  the  interesting 
list  of  native  fiction  destined  to  live,  portraying  certain  localities  and  types  of  American 
life  and  manners."— Boston  Literary  World. 

"  A  notable  contribution  to  those  sectional  studies  of  American  life  by  which  our 
literature  has  been  so  greatly  enriched  in  the  past  generation.  ...  A  work  of  unusual 
merit."— Philadelphia  Press. 

"  One  of  the  few  distinct  and  living  types  in  the  American  gallery." — St.  Louis 
Globe- Democrat. 

"  The  quaint  character  of '  David  Harum '  proves  to  be  an  inexhaustible  source  of 
amusement. — Chicago  Evening  Post. 

"  It  would  be  hard  to  say  wherein  the  author  could  have  bettered  the  portrait  he 
sets  before  us."—  Providence  Journal. 

"  Full  of  wit  and  sweetness." — Baltimore  Herald. 

"  Merits  the  heartiest  and  most  unequivocal  praise.  ...  It  is  a  pleasure  to  call  the 
reader's  attention  to  this  strong  and  most  original  novel,  a  novel  that  is  a  decided  and 
most  enduring  addition  to  American  literature." — Boston  Saturday  Evening  Gazette. 


D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY,  NEW  YORK. 


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L 


TWO   SUCCESSFUL  AMERICAN   NOVELS. 

ATITUDE  19°.  A  Romance  of  the  West  Indies  in 
the  Year  of  our  Lord  1820.  Being  a  faithful  account  and  true, 
of  the  painful  adventures  of  the  Skipper,  the  Bo's'n,  the  Smith, 
the  Mate,  and  Cynthia.  By  Mrs.  SCHUYLER  CROWNINSHIELD. 
Illustrated.  I2mo.  Cloth,  $1.50. 

"  '  Latitude  19°  '  is  a  novel  of  incident,  of  the  open  air,  of  the  sea,  the  shore,  the 
mountain  eyrie,  and  of  breathing,  living  entities,  who  deal  with  Nature  at  first  hand.  .  .  . 
The  adventures  described  are  peculiarly  novel  and  interesting.  .  .  .  Packed  with 
incidents,  infused  with  humor  and  wit,  and  faithful  to  the  types  introduced,  this  book 
will  surely  appeal  to  the  large  audience  already  won,  and  beget  new  friends  among 
those  who  believe  in  fiction  that  is  healthy  without  being  maudlin,  and  is  strong  with- 
out losing  the  truth." — New  York  Herald. 

"  A  story  filled  with  rapid  and  exciting  action  from  the  first  page  to  the  last.  A 
fecundity  of  invention  that  never  lags,  and  a  judiciously  used  vein  of  humor."—  Tht 
Critic. 

"  A  volume  of  deep,  undeniable  charm.  A  unique  book  from  a  fresh,  sure,  vigorous 
pen." — Boston  Journal. 

"  Adventurous  and  romantic  enough  to  satisfy  the  most  exacting  reader.  .  .  . 
Abounds  in  situations  which  make  the  blood  run  cold,  and  yet,  full  of  surprises  as  it  is, 
one  is  continually  amnzed  by  the  plausibility  of  the  main  incidents  of  the  narrative. 
...  A  very  successful  effort  to  portray  the  sort  of  adventures  that  might  have  taken 
place  in  the  West  Indies  seventy-five  or  eighty  years  ago.  .  .  .  Very  entertaining  with 
its  dry  humor." — Boston  Herald. 


A 


HERALD  OF  THE  WEST.  An  American 
Story  of  1811-1815.  By  J.  A.  ALTSHELER,  author  of  "A 
Soldier  of  Manhattan  "  and  "  The  Sun  of  Saratoga."  I2mo. 
Cloth,  $1.50. 

"  '  A  Herald  of  the  West '  is  a  romance  of  our  history  which  has  not  been  surpassed 
in  dramatic  force,  vivid  coloring,  and  historical  interest.  ...  In  these  days  when  the 
flush  of  war  has  only  just  passed,  the  book  ought  to  find  thousands  of  readers,  for  it 
teaches  patriotism  without  intolerance,  and  it  shows,  what  the  war  with  Spain  has 
demonstrated  anew,  the  power  of  the  American  neople  when  they  are  deeply  roused  by 
some  great  wrong."— San  Francisco  Chronicle. 

"  The  book  throughout  is  extremely  well  written.  It  is  condensed,  vivid,  pictu- 
resque. ...  A  rattling  good  story,  and  unrivaled  in  fiction  for  its  presentation  of  the 
American  feeling  toward  England  during  our  second  conflict." — Boston  Herald. 

"  Holds  the  attention  continuously.  .  .  .  The  book  abounds  in  thrilling  attractions. 
...  It  is  a  solid  and  dignified  acquisition  to  the  romantic  literature  ot  our  own  coun- 
try, built  around  facts  and  real  persons." — Chicago  Times- Herald. 

"  In  a  style  that  is  strong  and  broad,  the  author  of  this  timely  novel  takes  up  a 
nascent  period  of  our  national  history  and  founds  upon  it  a  story  of  absorbing  interest." 
-Philadelphia  Ittm. 

"  Mr.  Altsheler  has  given  us  an  accurate  as  well  as  picturesque  portrnynl  of  the 
social  and  political  conditions  which  prevailed  in  the  republic  in  the  era  made  famous 
by  the  second  war  with  Great  Britain." — Brooklyn  Eagle. 


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